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The Greeks Leaving Troy. 





THE 


CHILDREN’S ODYSSEY 


With an Introductory Chapter on 
Greek Myths 


By 

AGNES COOK GALE 

Author of The Story of Ulysses, Achilles and Hector, Etc, 


Illustrated by half tone cuts taken from photographs 
by Karl Schwier, of the frescoes of Preller on 
the walls of the Grossherzogliches Mu- 
zeum at Weimar, Germany, with 
the permission of the director, 

Herr Dr. W. Hermens. 

All rights reserved. 



BLOOMINGTON, ILLINOIS 
PUBLIC-SCHOOL PUBLISHING CO. 
1912 


8 


4 



COPYRIGHT 1912 


Public-School Publishing Co. 
Bloomington, III. 



Press and Bindery of 
Pantagraph Printing & Stationery Co. 
Bloomington, Illinois , 

/to 


I CU3!2726t» 

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To 

L. F. C. 

For being good 












































































* 


















* 



































PREFATORY NOTE. 

The changes which appear in this enlarged edition of “The 
Story of Ulysses” have been made with the purpose of bringing it 
nearer to the original. It is hoped that the added material will 
prove to be of value in giving the children a fuller and more vivid 
idea of Greek life in Homeric times. 

The new title has been adopted for the convenience of the 
publisher. It is the modest hope of both publisher and author that 
“The Children’s Odyssey” may at least fall heir to all the friends 
won by “The Story of Ulysses.” Whether it will be fortunate 
enough to increase that generous number, as the years go by, will 
of course depend upon itself. 

Grateful acknowledgment is made herewith to Mrs. Lfida B. 
McMurry of the Northern Illinois State Normal School for the 
helpful advice in the preparation of the original manuscript; to 
Mr. W. Scott Thurber for the loan of his fine carbon print of 
Turner’s “Ulysses and Polyphemus” for reproduction in this book; 
and to Herr Dr. W. Hermens, Director of the Grossherzogliches 
Muzeum at Weimar, Germany, for special permission to use as 
illustrations the frescoes of Preller, which are on the walls of the 
Muzeum, and which were photographed in Weimar by Karl 
Schwier ( Verlag der Deutschen Photographen-Zeitung.) 

A. C. G. 


Chicago, 1912. 


PRONUNCIATION OF NAMES 


Achilles, a-kil'lez 
Aegean, e-je'an 
Aeolus, e'-o-lus 
Agamemnon, ag-a-mem'non 
Ajax, a'jaks 

Amphinomus, am-fin'o-mus 
Antinous, an-tin'o-us 
Aphrodite, af-ro-dl'te 
Ares, a'rez 
Ariadne, ar-i-ad'ne 
Artemis, ar'te-mis 
Athene, a-the'ne 
Aulis, aw'lis 
Calypso, ca-lip'so 
Cassandra, cas-san'dra 
Charybdis, ca-rib'dis 
Ciconians, si-co'ni-ans 
Circe, sir'se 

Clytemnestra, clit-em-nes'tra 
Clytoneus, clit-o'nus 
Demodocus, de-mod'o-cus 
Diomedes, dl-o-me'dez 
Dionysus, dl-o-ni'sus 
Dolius, do'li-us 
Eumaeus, u-me'us 
Euryalus, u-rl'a-lus 
Eurycleia, u ri-cll'a 
Eurylochus, u-ril'o-cus 
Eurymachus, u-rim'a-cus 
Hades, ha'dez 
Hephaestus, he-fes'tus 
Heracles, her'a-cles 
Here, he'-re 
Hermes, her'mes 
Icarius, I-ca'ri-us 


Iphimedeia, if-i-me-dl'-a, 
Ismarus, is'ma-rus 
Lacedaemon, las-e-de'mon 
Laertes, la-er'tez 
Laodamas, la-od'a-mas 
Loacoon, la-oc'o-on 
Medon, me'don 
Menelaus, men-e-la'us 
Nausicaa, nau-sic'a-a 
Neriton, ner'i-ton 
Odysseus, o-dis'sus 
Orion, o-rl'on 
Patroclus, pa-tro'clus 
Peiraeus, pi-re'-us 
Peleus, pe'lus 
Penelope, pe-nel-o-pe 
Perseus, per'sus 
Phaeacia, le-a'shi-a 
Phaethon, fa'thon 
Polyphemus, pol-if-e'mus 
Poseidon, po-si'don 
Persephone, per-seph'o-ne 
Pylos, pl'los 
Samos, sa'mos 
Scylla, sil'la 
Sinon, sl'non 
Sisyphus, sis'if-us 
Tantalus, tan'ta-lus 
Telemachus, tel-em'a-cus 
Thetis, the'tis 
Theseus, the'sus 
Tiresias, ti-re'si-as 
Taphians, ta'fi-ans 
Temese, te-me'se 


INDEX TO CHAPTERS 


PAGS 

I. Odysseus an 1 Penelope 21 

II. Odysseus Plows the Seashore. ... 21 

III. Odysseus at Troy 32 

IV. The Wooden Horse 40 

V. Odysseus Visits the Eotus Eaters 47 

VI. The Giant Polyphemus 51 

VII. Aeolus and the Bag - of Winds 61 

VIII. The Man-Eaters 65 

IX. Circe and the Swine 63 

X. The Shadow Eand 79 

XI. The Sirens 85 

XII. The Dangerous Channel 88 

XIII. The Sun-God’s Cattle 92 

XIV. Calypso and the Raft 98 

XV. The Sea-Bird’s Gift 104 

XVI. Nausicaa’s Washing 109 

XVII. At the Palace of the Phaeacian King 114 

XVIII. Odysseus Among the Phaeacians . 122 

XIX. Penelope’s Weaving 133 

XX. The Young Prince and His Guest *...... 137 

XXI. Telemachus at the Council 145 

XXII. Telemachus Takes Eeave 151 

XXIII. Telemachus Visits Nestor 156 

XXIV. The Suitors’ Wicked Plan 165 

XXV. Telemachus Visits Menelaus 170 

XXVI. Odysseus Eeaves the Phaeacians 180 

X XVII. The Disguise 18+ 

XXVIII. The Beggar and the Swineherd 189 

XXIX. Eather and Son 197 

XXX. The Beggar at the Palace . . . 202 

XXXI. The Beggars’ Quarrel 213 

XXXII. Penelope Among the Suitors .... 219 

XXXIII. The Scar of the Boar’s Tusk 223 

XXX IV. The Trial of the Bow 234 

XXXV. The Queen’s Welcome 255 

XXXVI. Eaertes; and Peace 260 



INTRODUCTION. 


The Greeks and Their Stories. 


Far away, on the other side of the earth, 
lies a very beautiful country called Greece. 
It is a land of up-and-down — of high, steep 
mountain ranges surrounding narrow val- 
leys. The forests covering these mountains 
are thousands of years old. Streams from 
the mountains rush down through the 
valleys, widen into rivers, and flow at last 
into the blue Mediterranean Sea. And 
mountains, woodland, and well-watered 
valleys stretch away beneath the clearest 
and most brilliant skies in the whole world. 

No wonder that the Greek people have 
always loved their country. They de- 
lighted in its rugged mountains, blue in 
the morning, silvery at noon, and purple 


2 The Greeks and Their Stories. 

against the evening sky. Its deep, wild 
woods were full of lovely sights and sounds 
for them. They enjoyed the yellow sun- 
shine and the marvelously clear blue sky. 
They wondered at the strong sea, the many- 
sounding sea that murmurs in calm and 
roars beneath a tempest — the sea that tosses 
a great ship about as if it were a plaything. 
But most of all they wondered at the storms, 
the thunder and the lightning. 

Long ago the Greeks had many stories 
to tell about all these wonders of the out- 
door world. If a child asked, “What makes 
the thunder?” his mother answered, “Great 
Zeus is angry up there in the heavens. His 
right hand holds the thunderbolt, and he 
hurls it upon the earth.” 

When they saw the foaming surf roll in 
upon the sea shore, they said, “There goes 
Poseidon, god of the ocean, driving his wild 
white horses. Behold their tossing manes!” 
And when a gentle breeze blew across the 
waves, so that they rippled and sparkled in 


3 


Wonders of the Outdoor World. 

the sun, “Poseidon’s daughters, the pretty 
nymphs, are laughing and playing in the 
water.” 

The winds all had their names, and you 
shall read in the story of Odysseus how they 
once were shut up in a bag and then let 
loose again. 

The moon was Artemis, the beautiful 
crescent-horned huntress, shooting her 
bright silver arrows everywhere. She fol- 
lowed the chase among the clouds across 
the evening sky. The stars were her maid- 
ens. And all the shining company bathed 
themselves in the clear lakes and streams. 

The clouds were cows, driven to the 
milking by the summer wind. Or some- 
times they were sheep with moist fleeces, 
slain by the arrows of the sun-god. 

The sun was a burning chariot driven 
westward every day across the sky by yel- 
low-haired Apollo, and drawn by fiery horses 
none but himself knew how to drive. From 
this bright chariot Apollo shot the golden ar- 


4 


The Greeks and Their Stories. 


rows which drove away the clouds. Once 
Phaethon, young sou of Apollo, begged that 
he might drive the chariot for one day. 
Apollo answered, “None but myself may 
drive the flaming car of day, not even Zeus 
whose right hand hurls the thunderbolts. 
The first part of the way is steep, so that 
the horses even when they are fresh in the 
morning can hardly climb it. The middle 
is high up in the heavens. I myself can 
hardly, without fear, look down and see the 
earth and sea stretched beneath me. The 
last part of the road descends so swiftly that 
it needs most careful driving. Can you 
keep the course? It is not easy to guide 
those fire-breathing horses. Better recall 
the wish before it is too late.” 

But Phaethon held to his demand. He 
covered his head, for the light was so bright 
that he could hardly endure it. In the East 
Aurora threw open the purple doors of the 
dawn, and the maiden Hours brought out 
the golden chariot and harnessed the 


Story of Phaethon. 5 

horses. Apollo set the shining rays upon 
the head of Phaethon and advised him: 

“Spare the whip and hold the reins tight. 
Drive neither too high nor too low, but keep 
the middle course.” The youth sprang into 
the chariot and grasped the reins with joy. 
But the horses soon found out that their 
driver was new to his task. They left the 
track and dashed about as they pleased. 
They scorched the stars. They set fire to 
the mountains. A terrible drought began 
upon the earth. Many rivers dried up, the 
trees and grass were withered. Phaethon 
was afraid and did not know what to do. 
The earth beneath him was fast being ruined 
by the heat. Then great Zeus, seeing the 
trouble, sent a thunderbolt. It hurled Phae- 
thon from the chariot. He fell, like a shoot- 
ing star, into a great river whose waters 
cooled his burning frame. 

Fire upon earth is a strange thing,— so 
the Greeks thought. It is always flicker- 
ing, unsteady, ready to do harm, yet it is 


6 The Greeks and Their Stories. 

so good a worker for men. The busy 
spirit of the fire was Hephaestus, who moved 
with an unsteady gait, being lame. He 
had his forges on the tops of moun- 
tains where volcanos flamed. There he 
worked, forging the shields of heroes, and 
the arrows of Apollo and Artemis. With 
an axe he split open the head of Zeus the 
Thunderer, and the lightning goddess 
Athene leaped forth bearing in her hand 
a shining lance. On her breastplate the 
Gorgon’s head frowned like a thunder- 
cloud, and turned to stone, with fear, all 
those who looked upon it. 

The Greeks told their children a story 
about the changing seasons. Always the 
flowers had bloomed, and summer had lasted, 
all the year. One day Persephone, a young 
girl, was playing in the meadow with her 
girl companions, when a stranger came 
driving by, saw her, took her into his char- 
iot, and drove away. When she did not 
come back, the flowers began to fade and 


Story of Persephone. 7 

wither, and the days grew cloudy and sad, 
mourning her loss. Her mother searched 
for her all over the earth. At last, not End- 
ing her, she went down to the lower world, 
the world of shadows. And there was Per- 
sephone, made queen. For the stranger 
who had taken her away was Hades, ruler 
of the lower world. Her mother begged 
her to come back, but she could not. Hades 
at last consented to let her live again upon 
the earth for one half of the year. So after 
that the flowers bloomed again when she 
was here, and when she went down to her 
other home, they died, and it was winter. 

The woods, too, had their pretty stories. 
When Persephone, the lovely Summer, came 
back and brought the flowers, the people of 
the woods came out to play. The shepherds 
seemed to see the laughing faces of dryads 
peeping from the moving branches every- 
where. Dead gnarled and twisted boughs 
upon the ground looked to them like the 
legs of dancing satyrs. The horns of goats 


8 


The Greeks and Their Stories. 


half-seen among the trees reminded them 
of horned Pan, the shepherds’ woodland 
god. They feared to see him, but they often 
thought they heard the music of his flute 
far off in the dim forest. 

The Greeks called all these story-people 
gods because they were greater and stronger 
than themselves. For is not lightning 
stronger than a man? And no man can 
change the seasons, or make the spring 
come in the place of winter. 

In their own daily lives, too, the Greeks 
thought that the gods and goddesses man- 
aged things. Athene sent the quick thoughts 
to men’s minds, thoughts that move as rap- 
idly as lightning. Here, wife of the Thun- 
derer, kept watch over homes, to protect 
them. And the laughter-loving Aphrodite, 
most beautiful of all the goddesses, made 
people love one another. 

When the gods sent messages to men, 
Hermes carried them. He came on his 
winged sandals as swiftly as the wind. He 


Worship of the Gods. 


9 


had wings also on his cap, and wings tipped 
his snaky staff, by which men knew him. 
He came to people in their dreams, telling 
them what the gods wished them to do. 
Then there were Ares, the god of battles, 
and Dionysus, god of wine, with vine-leaves 
in his hair, and many others. 

The Greeks built marble temples to 
their gods. They often went into the 
temples to pray and offer sacrifices of fowls, 
or goats, or cattle, or whatever else they 
had to give. They kindled fires and 
killed and roasted the animals to please 
the gods and make them kind. Every 
god had his favorite animals for sacrifice, 
as all the people knew. In their daily lives 
they thought often of the gods. Before 
starting on a journey they asked the priest 
in the temple whether the gods favored 
it. A traveller going through the woods 
and stopping to drink at a clear spring 
did not forget to thank the naiad of the 
place. And no one even drank a bowl 


io The Greeks and Their Stories. 

of wine without first pouring out a little 
in remembrance of the gods. 

Homer and the Hero Tales. 

The beautiful green valleys of Greece 
run down between high mountains to the 
sea. And the sea extends far inland in 
many places, so that the people living in 
these valleys have their seaport towns 
and harbors. In olden times the people 
of one valley could not very easily go to 
visit those living in another unless they 
went around by sea. To do this they 
built boats. So the Greeks learned to be 
sailors. And when they had visited the 
ports of Greece, they ventured to other 
countries, even as far as Africa and Troy, 
or Ilios, as the Greeks called the famous 
city. In those days the sailor’s life was 
full of danger and adventure, such as the 
Greeks loved especially to hear about. It 
was a life for strong men. Those who 


Heroes of the Golden Age. n 

were strong and brave enough to make 
long voyages came home with marvelous 
tales of all that they had seen and done. 
Many of these stories are as full of won- 
ders as a dream, so that nobody knows 
whether such heroes ever really lived. 
But no doubt the Greeks enjoyed the sto- 
ries all the more, as we still enjoy them, 
because they are so full of wonders. 

The Greek people loved and admired 
their heroes, and called them godlike, be- 
cause of the wonderful things they did. 
Some of these heroes of whose adventures 
the people liked best to hear were Hera- 
cles, Theseus, Perseus, Jason of the Argo- 
nauts, and the heroes of the Trojan war. 
The stories of thgir adventures were told 
in every home. Men called bards went 
about doing nothing else but singing or 
telling the well-known hero tales. As 
they sang, they played chords on the lyre 
made of tortoise shell which they carried 
with them. 


12 The Greeks and Their Stories. 

Perhaps the most beloved of all the 
bards was Homer, said to have been 
blind. Homer was an honored guest 
wherever he went. He could come and 
go as he pleased, always sure of food, 
shelter and a warm welcome. He sat in 
the sunny .portico at midday, or by the 
big square hearthstone in the living room 
of the house after the evening meal had 
been cleared away. A circle of eager lis- 
teners always gathered about him, ready 
for the stories. 

His poems, the Iliad and the Odyssey, 
were often told, and long after Homer 
died they were written down in books. 
They still live for us to read and enjoy, 
and they will be read as long as children 
love stories. This book tells the story of 
the Odyssey, the adventures of the hero 
Ulysses on his way home from the Trojan 
war. Odysseus was his name in the 
Greek language, in which the story was 
first told. Some of the stories leading up 
to the story of Odysseus are told here also. 


The Story of Paris. 


13 


The Story of Paris. 

Once upon a time an old shepherd 
lived in a hut upon a mountain side, not 
far from the city of Troy. Troy was 
eastward across the sea from Greece. 
One morning there came to the old shep- 
herd a strange man from the city, bear- 
ing a little bundle in his arms. 

“What have you there?” asked the 
shepherd curiously, for no one had ever 
brought him anything before. The stran- 
ger stepped beside him, and drew down 
a corner of the bundle’s woolen covering. 
There was a tiny face, all puckered up 
to cry. 

“A child,” gasped the astonished shep- 
herd, “But what am I to do?” 

“This baby’s mother,” said the man, 
“has had a frightful dream. In it she 
was told that her little son would be a 
firebrand which would burn the city. 


14 


The Greeks and Their Stories. 


When she* told the dream her people 
took the baby from her. He was given 
to me to be left out here on the moun- 
tain all alone, — poor baby!” 

“Too fine a child for the wolves to 
get,” said the old shepherd, thoughtfully. 

“So I think,” the stranger said, “I 
have no money to give you, but if you 
will keep him, you will not regret it, I 
can promise. He is no common child.” 

“That I can see,” answered the shep- 
herd, “but what if the dream were sent 
by the gods?” 

“If he is to be the firebrand,” said 
the other, “he will be, no matter what we 
do. No one may escape his fate, not 
even a king’s son.” And turning, he 
went down the hill. 

“A king’s son,” quoth the shepnerd 
opening his eyes. “He shall not die.” He 
carried the baby into his hut. 

So the little prince grew up a shep- 
herd and a keeper of cattle. There was 


Story of Paris. 


15 


a fine bull in the herd, which he had 
reared. Upon a day there came some 
herdsmen by, looking for cattle for the 
king of Troy. They chose the bull at 
once, for he was the finest they had seen. 

“How will the king use him?” asked 
the young shepherd. 

“As a prize,” they answered, “The 
king will have ten days of funeral games 
in memory of his son Paris, who would 
be a man this year if he had lived.” 

“Take the bull,” said the young shep- 
herd, “I will go with him and take part 
in the games.” 

So the young shepherd went into Troy 
with his prize bullock and took part in 
the games. Many other young men were 
there. They wrestled, they boxed, they 
threw the discus, they ran and leaped. 
And first in strength and skill was the 
young shepherd. So he won the bullock 
back again to be his own. As he was lead- 
ing it away, a servant touched him on the 


16 The Greeks and Their Stories. 

arm, saying, “The king wishes to speak 
with you.” 

In surprise, he hastened back and 
stood before the king. 

“Who are you?” the king asked. 

“O king, I am Alexander the herdsman.” 

“He is that and more, my father,” 
said a woman’s voice, and Cassandra, the 
king’s daughter, arose. 

,“You know I am a seer, although 
you will not believe me. The gods tell 
me that this man is Paris Alexander, 
your own son, sent away from you 
while only a little babe.” 

“How is this, boy?” cried the king, 
“What do you know about it?” 

Alexander said, “My foster father told 
me when I left him, ten days ago. Only 
so long have I known. You may ask 
him about it.” 

The king was greatly moved. Tears 
stood in his eyes. He arose and laid his 
hands on the boy’s shoulders. 


17 


The Golden Apple . 

“My son,” he cried, “Ah, I am glad. 
And you are worthy to be a prince.” 

But Paris stood straight and looked 
his father in the eyes. “My foster father 
has been kinder to me. I shall go back 
to him.” He turned proudly and left the 
king, his father, and went back to his 
cattle on the hills. 

The Story of the Golden Apple. 

There was merrymaking on Mt. Olym- 
pus, where the great gods lived. High 
among the clouds the gods were having 
a gay feast. It was in honor of the wed- 
ding of Peleus, a hero, and Thetis, a 
pretty nymph. There were the Thun- 
derer himself and queenly Here, clear- 
eyed Athene, laughter-loving Aphrodite, 
and all the rest. And yet not quite all, 
for one had been left out. This one was 
Eris, the dark-browed goddess of' trouble 
and strife. No one wished to invite the 


16 The Greeks and Their Stories. 

quarrelsome Eris to the wedding. But 
she was angry and sent trouble enough 
in her place, trouble that lasted many a 
long and bitter year. This is how she 
did it. She took a beautiful golden 
apple and wrote upon it, “To the Fair- 
est.” And as she went by she threw it 
among the guests. It fell upon the table 
and lay shining there. The wedding 
guests were amazed. To whom did it 
belong? Who was “the fairest?” Some 
said it should be Here’s, others would 
give it to Athene, and still others said 
Aphrodite of course was the fairest of 
them all. And each of the three god- 
desses, it was plainly to be seen, thought 
that the golden apple should be hers. 

So the feast ended in trouble after all 
and Eris had her way. But someone 
must settle the question of the apple. 
And so it happened that one day, as 
Paris watched his flock upon the hillside, 
he suddenly saw before him three fair 


The Golden Apple. 


19 


women, taller and fairer than any he had 
ever seen before. They asked him to 
choose the fairest among them. 

“Choose me and you shall have great 
riches,” said Here. 

“I promise you the gift of wisdom,” 
said Athene. 

“And I,” said Aphrodite, “the fairest 
of all women for your wife.” And the 
rosy-cheeked goddess smiled for she 
knew already that she had won the apple. 

Now the most beautiful of women was 
Helen. She was the wife of Menelaus, 
and she lived in Greece, a long way 
across the sea from Troy. It happened 
that Menelaus had been visiting the king 
of Troy. Paris went to the palace of the 
king his father, saw Menelaus, and was 
invited to travel over the sea to Greece 
with him. On the journey they became 
friends. Paris went with Menelaus to 
Lacedaemon, and there he found Helen, 
the fairest woman in the world. It was not 


20 The Greeks and Their Stories. 

long after, so the story goes, that Paris 
stole off by night with Helen and all her 
treasures. They fled together to the sea- 
shore and sailed away to Troy. 

This wrong which Paris did to Men- 
elaus was the real beginning of the ten 
years’ Trojan war. At the end of the 
war, the Greek soldiers burned the city 
of Troy. So Paris was indeed the fire- 
brand which his mother’s dream had 
foretold. 

And now we must go back some time, 
and learn of the promise which Helen’s 
suitors had made to Menelaus when she 
married him. 


’ Odysseus and Penelope. 


21 


THE CHILDREN’S ODYSSEY. 


I. Odysseus and Penelope. 


The king’s palace in the city of Lace- 
daemon was thronged with young men. 
They had come from all parts of Greece 
upon the same errand, the wooing of fair 
Helen, the King’s daughter. Since only 
one of them could win her, they looked 
at one another with jealous eyes, and as 
they restlessly moved about in the court- 
yard and through the wide doorways, 
there was not a smiling face to be seen 
among them. 

The aged king had withdrawn to his 
own rooms in the palace, where he sat be- 
hind closed doors, his brow bent in 
anxious thought. A servant was standing 
silently before him, awaiting permission 
to deliver his message. 


22 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


“Well, Medon, speak,” said the king at 
last. 

“Odysseus, the young king of Ithaca, 
would speak with you.” 

“If it were any other man I would not 
see him,” said the king, “but let Odysseus 
enter.” The servant left the room. 

The great door opened again and a 
young man, dark and strongly built, en- 
tered and stood before the king, who said 
impatiently: 

“Speak, Odysseus, tell me your errand.” 

“Good king,” said Odysseus, “I know 
you are in trouble. For if Helen is given 
to any one of us, the others may be jealous 
and plot to ruin both yourself and him.” 

The king leaned his head upon his 
hand in silence. 

“Therefore,” continued Odysseus, “I 
have come to present to you a plan. But 
first let me say this: your daughter 
Helen, it is true, is the most beautiful 
woman in the world. But there is one 


Odysseus and Penelope. 


2i 

among her companions, her cousin, Penel- 
ope, who has won my heart. If you will 
gain her father’s consent that I may wed 
this maiden, I promise you relief from 
all your troubles.” 

The king’s eyes sparkled. 

“Odysseus,” he said, “if you are tell- 
ing me the truth, you shall win Penel- 
ope. But first let me hear the plan.” 

“It is this,” said Odysseus. “Before 
you choose a husband for Helen, let all 
the princes promise that, whoever he may 
be, they will befriend him and will fight 
for him and for Helen if ever she is in 
danger. Each one, hoping that he him- 
self may be the lucky man, will promise 
eagerly.” 

“Then,” the king added after a mo- 
ment’s thought, “not one of them will 
dare to plot against us. Odysseus, they 
call you the Wise King. You have fairly 
won the name. I will send a messenger 
at once to call the maiden’s father.” 


24 The Children’s Odyssey. 

But Icarius could not bear the thought 
of parting with his daughter, whom he 
dearly loved. At last he said: 

“Let Penelope herself decide.” 

Odysseus followed Icarius through the 
streets of Lacedaemon to his home. They 
went in at the wide doorway of the house. 
Penelope, summoned from her spinning 
in the inner room, came out to greet them. 

“My daughter,” said Icarius, “Odys- 
seus loves you. Will you go with 
him or will you say him nay, and stay 
with your old father?” 

She stood a moment, looking from her 
father to her lover. Then without a word 
she drew her veil over her blushing face, 
and Odysseus knew that his cause was won. 

Soon after this Odysseus made Penel- 
ope his wife and took her with him to 
his island home in Ithaca. A brave, fair- 
haired young chief, named Menelaus, was 
chosen as Helen’s husband and the future 
king of Lacedaemon. The other princes, 


25 


Odysseus and Penelope. 

bound by their promise, went peaceably 
away. A year or two passed by. To Odys- 
seus and Penelope in their happy home there 
came a little son, whom they called Telem- 
achus, a long name for such a tiny baby. 

Spring passed, and summer came and 
brought a trader’s ship to anchor in the 
bay. The trader himself, a swarthy little 
man, appeared one day at the palace, 
laden with his wares. The women of the 
household gathered around him, while the 
queen sat near with the baby prince in her 
arms. The trader spread out jewels, neck- 
laces, bracelets, vases and fans, before 
them, talking as he worked. 

“See this curious flask of alabaster. It 
has traveled from the far, far East. And 
here, ah! look at this — a girdle that Queen 
Helen wore, Helen who has fled from 
home with the Trojan prince; Helen, the 
fairest of women — ” 

“What are you saying?” said the queen 
quickly, “Helen fled from home?” 


26 The Children’s Odyssey. 

“Ay, lady,” said the trader, who was 
fond of gossip. “The young Prince Paris 
came from Troy and carried her away with 
him. King Menelaus has sent messen- 
gers to your husband. My ship, carrying 
more sail than theirs, passed them in 
mid-sea. They will be here tomorrow if 
the wind holds. But this fine girdle — ” 

Penelope heard no more. She hur- 
ried from the room, her baby in her 
arms. In the covered porch she stopped, 
shading her eyes with her hand. The 
king was walking in the olive-grove. She 
went to him quickly. 

“Odysseus, they say Helen has gone 
from home with a Trojan prince. Heralds 
from Menelaus will be here tomorrow to 
ask aid of you. Oh, do not go away with 
them!” 

Her pleading eyes were full of tears. 
Odysseus looked at her, then at the baby 
boy asleep upon her breast. 

“I cannot go,” he said, “I will not go.” 


Odysseus Plows the Seashore. 


27 



II. Odysseus Plows the Seashore. 


It happened as the trader said. On 
the next day the ship that he had passed 
came into harbor. On board were two 
tall Lacedaemonian soldiers, messengers 
from Menelaus. They hastened through 
the town to the palace and asked to see 
Odysseus. 

“The king is not here,” said a servant 
maid. 

“Where is he?” they asked. 


28 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


She pointed toward the seashore. 

“There, somewhere, I cannot tell.” She 
came nearer to them and whispered, touch- 
ing her forehead mysteriously, 

“He has gone mad.” 

“Odysseus mad!” they cried. “Impos- 
sible!” 

They went to look for him along the 
lonely shore. Far from the town, a league 
or more, they saw strange traces in the 
sand. Great heaps of it lay piled up here 
and there, and between them ran a crooked 
furrow. As they stood wondering what 
it meant, they heard a man’s voice in the 
distance, singing a wild, tuneless song. 
They turned and looked. It was a strange 
sight. An ox and a horse, yoked together, 
were dragging a heavy plow through the 
sand. Behind them walked the king, sing- 
ing and talking to himself, and sowing 
handfuls of white salt in the uneven fur- 
row. His hair was disheveled and his 
eyes were wild. He seemed not to see the 


Odysseus Plows the Seashore. 29 

messengers, but passed them by and went 
on, chanting his crazy song. 

They were puzzled. 

“He was the keenest and wisest of all 
the Greeks,” said one. “I cannot under- 
stand it.” 

They went back to the palace, each one 
busy with his thoughts. The queen came 
out into the great hall to meet them, for 
as guests they must be treated courteously. 
Her face was pale and anxious as she 
welcomed them and bade the servants give 
them, food and drink. She sat by while 
they ate, but she could hardly force her- 
self to talk with them. Her nurse maid, 
thinking to cheer her, brought the little 
babe and laid him in her lap. One of the 
soldiers looked up from his meal. 

“Your son?” he asked. 

“Yes,” said the queen, smiling faintly, 
as the baby kicked and crowed. 

“Will you lend him to us for a little 
while?” said the soldier. 


30 The Children’s Odyssey. 

“Nay,” cried the queen in alarm. 
“Why should I do that?” She clasped her 
baby tightly to her breast. 

“We will not harm him, I promise 
you,” he said gently. “I wish to show 
him to his father, that is all.” 

“I will go with you,” said Penelope. 

Again they went down to the shore, 
this time with Odysseus’ wife and child. 
The mad king was still plowing in the 
sand and singing to himself. While he 
was yet at a distance, one of the soldiers 
said, “Now let me take the babe. I prom- 
ise you I will not harm him.” 

The queen, with much misgiving, let 
him take the child into his arms. What 
was her horror, when she saw him walk 
to the furrow and lay the baby down in 
front of the coming plow! She started 
toward the place, but the other soldier 
held both her wrists in one strong 
hand and placed his other hand over her 
mouth. 


Odysseus Plows the Seashore. 31 

“You must not make a sound,” he said 
sternly. She could not move. 

Nearer and nearer came the king with 
his strange team. Now he was close upon 
the precious bundle lying there. One 
step more — but no! There is a sudden 
tightening of one rein; the horse has 
reared, the slow ox turns to the left, and 
the little babe is safe. 

The soldier loosed his hold of the pale 
lady. His companion followed Odysseus 
and stopped him, with a hand on his 
shoulder. 

“You are no more mad than I am,” 
said he. Odysseus turned and looked 
him in the eye. The trick was discovered. 

“You have said it,” was his answer. 


32 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


III. Odysseus at Troy. 


Odysseus could no longer refuse to aid 
Menelaus. He gave his word to the mes- 
sengers that he would go. Within a month 
he had gathered together as many men and 
ships as Ithaca could furnish. Then he 
bade a very tender farewell to his beloved 
wife and the baby boy, and set sail with his 
fleet for Aulis, the appointed meeting 
place. 

The Greeks were up in arms. Every 
chief wno had promised to stand by Men- 
elaus in his hour of need, was either al- 
ready at Aulis with his followers, or on 
the way thither. It was a great mustering 
of brave men. Among them Odysseus 
was marked for his sturdy frame and sol- 
dierly bearing, and for the respect that 
every warrior paid to his advice. Achilles 
and Diomedes were two of the bravest, but 
Menelaus together with his brother Ag- 


33 


Odysseus at Troy. 

amemnon, who was called “The King of 
Men”, seemed to be everywhere at once, 
planning and arranging for the voyage. 
Agamemnon had been chosen commander- 
in-chief. 

The plan was to sail over the Aegean 
sea to Troy, capture and burn the city and 
bring home the stolen queen. They did 
not dream how great a task it was, or, dar- 
ing as they were, they might have faltered. 
In order that they might be granted a 
prosperous voyage, they made many burnt 
offerings to the gods, and then the whole 
fleet of twelve hundred vessels and more 
than a hundred thousand men sailed out 
from Aulis, bound for Troy. 

It would take too long to tell all the 
events of that journey and of the war that 
followed. Troy was a great city. Its walls 
held out, from month to month and from 
year to year, in spite of the besieging army, 
until ten years had passed. The Greek 
army had suffered greatly from hunger, 


34 The Children’s Odyssey. 

cold, pestilence, and discord among the 
leaders. Many of their chiefs had fallen 
in battle, among them Achilles’ friend Pa- 
troclus, who had been killed by Hector. 
Sometime^ it seemed as if they must give 
up the siege. 

One day a company of Trojan soldiers, 
led by Hector, the bravest of their chiefs, 
came out from the city and attacked the 
Greeks; but finding that the latter were 
too strong for them, the company soon 
turned and ran back to the city, with the 
exception of Hector. He stopped outside 
the gates and faced the enemy alone. He 
had always felt that he would die in such 
an encounter, but he fought bravely until 
he saw Achilles approaching, terrible in 
his gleaming armor. Then his courage 
suddenly forsook him, and he fled. Three 
times around the walls of Troy they ran, 
Achilles in close pursuit. Each time Hec- 
tor was driven farther and farther from 
his friends. At last he stopped and hurled 


35 


Odysseus at Troy. 

his spear. It struck Achilles’ shield and 
bounded back. He drew his sword, but 
Achilles poised his spear and threw it 
with terrible effect. It struck Hector in 
the neck and wounded him to death. As 
he fell he called out faintly, 

“Spare my body! Let my father bury 
me!” But fierce Achilles answered, 

“Dog, you did not spare Patroclus; 
why should I spare you?” So Hector died. 

The old white-bearded king of Troy 
came in person to Achilles and begged 
for the body of Hector, his beloved son. 
Achilles at first refused. But the sight 
of the aged king reminded him of his own 
father, whom he might never see again, 
and he relented. A truce of twelve days 
was declared for Hector’s funeral. 

The Greeks thought that now, since 
Hector was slain, the war would soon be 
over. 

Among the high-born Trojan maidens 
who walked in the funeral procession of 


36 The Children’s Odyssey. 

Hector, Achilles saw a daughter of the 
king who was very beautiful. He went 
away, but he could not forget her. He said 
to himself, “She is as beautiful as Helen. 
I will ask the king if I may marry her.” 

In the temple of Apollo he found the 
king. But a treacherous enemy had marked 
Achilles. While he was asking for the 
beautiful princess, one of the Trojans shot 
a poisoned arrow which struck him in the 
heel, the only part of his body that could 
be wounded. He was carried back to camp, 
but within an hour he was dead. 

Now indeed the Greeks were in de- 
spair. Achilles had been the hero of the 
army. War began again, and a council 
was called in Agamemnon’s tent. 

Nestor, the oldest of the Greeks, arose 
to speak. The other chiefs sat listening 
in gloomy silence, when the guard outside 
saluted, and Odysseus appeared in the 
doorway. At sight of him the eyes of 
Menelaus brightened. Nestor continued: 


37 


Odysseus at Troy. 

“The army is slowly starving,” he 
was saying. “There is no food ex- 
cept within the city walls. There stand 
those walls. Why do we not storm 
them? Achilles is dead. Where are the 
other chiefs? They are as helpless as 
babes without him. Shame though it be, we 
must go home. We are utterly defeated.” 

Diomedes sprang upon his feet. 

“Never!” he cried. “Greece shall not 
drag her honor in the dust! Have we 
fought and struggled here for ten long 
years, only to go home like whipped dogs 
to their kennel? Great Zeus! Are we not 
made of better stuff than that? Ah, broth- 
ers, we must not lose hope. Let us stay 
on and fight, as Achilles would have fought, 
to victory or death!” 

Spears clashed on shields in fierce ap- 
plause. But Odysseus was waiting for a 
chance to speak. 

“I am no orator,” he began. “I have 
no fiery words of eloquence. To my 


38 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


mind we cannot hope to storm the walls 
without Achilles. Let us fold up our 
tents, break camp and let the Trojans know 
we are going. But listen: we will first 
build a great monument to Athene. And 
since the horse is sacred to her, let it be 
in the form of a monstrous horse, built of 
wood. And especially” (with lowered voice) 
“let it be hollow!” 

The warriors waited eagerly for the un- 
folding of the plan. Odysseus continued: 

“Diomedes, you and I will take men 
enough to fill the hollow body of the wooden 
horse. We will climb in at night, under 
cover of the darkness. The next day the 
army will sail off beyond the rocky point, 
and lie at anchor there. Then we will 
wait.” 

They began to understand. Their eyes 
flashed. They moved restlessly. “Go on,” 
they cried. 

“Tell the Trojans it is an offering to 
Athene, the wise goddess, to help 


us on 


39 


Odysseus at Troy. 

our journey home. They will come out to 
look at the great horse. They will wonder 
and question one another. Perhaps they 
will carry it within the city. If they do — ” 
He stopped. The blackbearded chiefs 
leaned toward him, breathing hard. “Then 
we shall see,” he calmly finished. 

They broke into a tumult. 

“No mortal man can accomplish it,” 
cried one. 

“What will they do for food?” objected 
another. 

“If someone betrays the plan—” sug- 
gested a third. 

Odysseus looked sternly around. 

“If any man turn traitor, he shall die, 
so help me all the gods!” 

They solemnly promised to keep the 
plan a secret. 

“Odysseus,” said Agamemnon, “You 
give us reason to hope. Our honor and 
our lives are in your keeping.” 

“It is a sacred trust,” Odysseus answerd. 


40 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


IV. The Wooden Horse. 


The Trojan sentinels looked down in 
wonder from the towers on the city walls. 
Something unusual had taken place in 
the enemy’s camp. Every man was busy, 
some dragging timber from the forest, 
others hewing it, and still others working 
at the forges. The distance was too great 
for the sentinels to see that they were 
melting down their spears and making 
bars and nails of them. 

They worked night and day, and little 
by little rose from the ground a huge, 
strange looking object. No one, not even 
the Greeks themselves, had ever seen 
anything like it. It was so tall that even 
those who watched it from the city walls 
had to look up to measure its height. Its 
ponderous legs were like the towers on 
each side of the city gates. There was room 
for a small army within its enormous body. ' 


The Wooden Horse. 


41 


At last it was completed. A festival 
was held, and with great ceremony the 
horse was offered to Athene, the wise god- 
dess. That night, under cover of the dark- 
ness, Odysseus and Diomedes with their 
men climbed into the hollow body. In 
the morning the Trojans were amazed to 
see the great horse standing alone where 
the camp had been, while the white sails 
of the Greek fleet were already far down 
the bay. Hardly believing their eyes, 
they ventured out, cautiously at first, then 
more boldly, as no enemy appeared. 

They walked around the wooden horse, 
examining it curiously. One man struck 
it with his sword. A groan answered the 
blow. The people were alarmed. “Come 
away,” they said, “It is an evil thing.” 
But just then a man was discovered lying 
asleep between the huge fore feet of the 
statue. They seized him and shook him 
roughly. “Awake!” they cried, “Who are 
you?” 


4 2 The Children’s Odyssey. 

Stupefied, and, as it seemed, half dead 
with fear, he was taken to the king, who 
questioned him. 

“I am a Greek, my name is Sinon,” he 
said. “Odysseus hated me and plotted 
against me so that they all went away and 
left me here.” 

“Tell us about yonder strange beast,” 
said the king, “and we will spare your life.” 

“The Greeks prayed for a safe voyage 
home, and this is an offering to Athene,” 
said Sinon. Then he craftily added, “We 
built it huge and heavy, that you might not 
take it into Troy, for the priest told us that 
if it came within the walls, Troy would be 
free forever and could not be overthrown.” 
The king and his sons looked at each 
other in joyful surprise. 

“The giant horse shall come within the 
walls of Troy today,” they said. But Lao- 
coon, who was a priest, objected. 

“Friends, this is dangerous,” he warned, 
“Do we not know enough about the Greeks 


The Wooden Horse. 


43 


to be on guard against them? I, for one, 
fear them even when they offer gifts. 
There is some trick about it.” He threw 
his spear against the horse’s side. It made 
a hollow sound, like a groan. The people 
were afraid. At that moment a young 
man, with a cry of terror pointed toward 
the sea. Across the water two great ser- 
pents seemed to be gliding toward them. 
As they came upon the shore the people 
scattered wildly. Only the priest and 
his two sons stood upon the steps of 
the temple, watching them. They came 
on, up the steps, and wound themselves 
around the bodies of the priest and his 
sons, crushing them to death. 

This was to the Trojans a sure sign 
that Laocoon the priest had done a wicked 
thing in striking the horse that was an 
offering to Athene. They must take in the 
offering, or Athene’s wrath would fall upon 
them all as it had fallen upon the priest 
and his two sons. 


44 The Children’s Odyssey. 

So with much labor the huge horse was 
taken within the gates. The people danced 
and sang around it and held a great fes- 
tival in honor of their deliverance and the 
end of the war. 

But there was one other who suspected 
a trick. At sundown the soldiers inside 
the wooden horse heard light footsteps 
without, and a gentle tapping here and 
there on the horse’s side. 

“Diomedes! Diomedes!” called a wom- 
an’s voice. Diomedes was astonished. 

“It is the voice of my wife,” he whis- 
pered. “How came she here?” Then a 
different voice said, “Odysseus! Odysseus!” 
But Odysseus listened intently and said 
nothing. There seemed to be many voices 
softly calling the heroes’ names, one after 
another. Each man declared that he heard 
the voice of his wife. Diomedes was so 
sure of it that he would have answered, 
“Here am I,” but Odysseus quickly put 
his hand over the soldier’s mouth. 


The Wooden Horse. 


45 


No sound came from within the horse. 
At last a woman, who had been lingering 
near by, turned away and disappeared down 
a winding street. It was Helen. But for 
Odysseus, the warriors would have been 
betrayed. 

Night came on and the moon rose 
serene and bright over the sleeping city. 
But Sinon, the Greek spy, had not slept. 
At midnight he arose, let himself out of the 
palace, and stole through the silent streets 
to where the horse stood at the entrance to 
the temple. He climbed up one of its 
great legs and with a file cut several nails 
in its side. The soldiers within pressed 
against the side, a large opening was 
made, and one by one they dropped to the 
ground. 

In the vestibule of the temple Odysseus 
found torches, which he lighted and gave 
to the soldiers. They hurried through the 
streets in all directions, setting fire to every 
house as they went. Before dawn the city 


46 The Children’s Odyssey. 

was wrapped in flames. The terror-stricken 
people rushed out, only to be met by cruel 
Greeks, who seemed to fill the streets. 
Confusion reigned everywhere. Some 
fought, others surrendered, and still others, 
overcome by fear, ran shrieking and threw 
themselves among the flames. Only a few 
escaped, and these were met outside the 
gates by the rest of the Greek army, who 
had sailed back in the night to finish the 
work begun by Odysseus. 

So Troy fell, and the wrongs of Men- 
elaus were avenged. The Greeks plun- 
dered the rich city of all they could carry 
away, and Helen, the cause of the war, 
at last came back to her home. 


Odysseus Visits the Lotus Eaters. 47 


V. Odysseus Visits the Lotus Eaters 


Laden with the wealth of the ruined 
city, the Greeks formed in companies and 
marched down to the shore. Although a 
great number had fallen in battle during 
those ten years, the army was still so large 
that it took three days and nights for all 
to get aboard the ships with their pos- 
sessions. Odysseus and his men were 
among the last to leave. They sailed with 
the wind from Troy to the city of Ismarus, 
where the Ciconians lived. With the burn- 
ing of Troy fresh in their minds, the Greeks 
had no sooner come ashore than they began 
to sack the city, taking everything of value 
that they could lay hands upon. Odysseus 
commanded them to return to the boats, 
but they refused to obey, and kept on plun- 
dering and carousing through the night. 

Meanwhile the distressed people, the 
Ciconians, had sent messengers for aid to 


48 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


their neighbors in the inland country. In 
the morning they gathered, thick as leaves 
in springtime, and fell upon the Greeks. 
The battle raged all day. The fighting on 
both sides was desperate. At first the 
Greeks held off the enemy, but at sundown, 
outnumbered, they fled to their ships, hav- 
ing lost six men from every crew. They 
did not leave until they had called aloud 
three times the name of every missing 
man. And when no more would come, 
they sailed away, with aching hearts, 
mourning for their comrades, but glad to 
escape complete destruction. 

Driven, thus from a hostile land back 
to the unfriendly sea, the Greeks were at 
the mercy of the weather. A storm which 
had been gathering overtook them. It 
drove the ships before it, and stripped the 
sails into tatters. The sailors lowered 
them, in terror for their lives. With the 
oars they brought the boats hastily toward 
land. They lay inshore two days and 


Odysseus Visits the Lotus Eaters. 49 

nights until the storm was nearly over. 
Then hoisting new sail, they started out 
once more. And now they might have 
gone straight home, but that the current 
and the north wind, coming around the 
southern point of Greece, together were too 
strong for them. They were driven far out 
of their course. Perhaps the gods who 
loved Odysseus were not willing that he 
should see his home until, by passing 
through the greatest trials, he had learned 
to be as ready, brave and wise as any man 
could be. 

The twelve ships, in the power of the 
north wind, could do nothing but scud 
along before it. The sailors did not know 
where they were going. But on the tenth 
day the air began to grow soft and warm, 
and a shore appeared where tall palm trees 
were growing, and grey, moss-hung cy- 
presses sent out their roots like arms into 
the quiet water. So they landed there, and 
finding fresh water to drink, prepared their 


so The Children’s Odyssey. 

dinner by the ships. The soft-eyed, dark- 
skinned natives offered them yellow lotus 
flowers to eat. This fragrant food was very 
pleasant to the taste, but the strange thing 
about it was that it brought forgetfulness 
to every one who ate it. 

No sooner had the Greeks tasted the 
lotus flowers than they forgot everything 
that they had ever known before. They 
forgot the great war, they forgot their wives 
and children at home, watching so anx- 
iously for their return. They wished for 
nothing in the world but to stay in that 
warm country always, eating the sweet 
lotus flowers and dreaming the days away. 
They even forgot that Odysseus waited in 
the harbor, and they might have been 
drowsing there to the end of their lives if 
he had not come in search of them. Two 
by two he dragged them off to the boats, 
weeping and making a great resistance, 
and sailed away with them bound fast, 
hand and foot, beneath the rowers’ benches. 
















































































































































































Blind Polyphemus at the Mouth of the Cave, 



The Giant Polyphemus. 


51 


VI. The Giant Polyphemus. 


Upon a foggy night, when there was no 
moon and Odysseus and his men could not 
tell in what direction they were sailing, 
they suddenly felt the beach beneath their 
keels. They had not seen the island nor 
heard the long waves rolling upon the 
shore. But they were glad to lower their 
sails and spend the night upon the quiet 
beach, happy in thinking that some 
friendly god had guided them there. As 
soon as it was dawn, they looked about 
them and saw a pleasant country, whose 
dewy pastures and wooded hills invited 
them to explore it. They took their bows 
and their long hunting spears from the 
boats, and made the circuit of the island, 
killing many mountain goats, which they 
brought back to the beach. Ten of these 
they set apart for Odysseus alone. They 


52 The Children’s Odyssey. 

spent one whole day roasting and eating 
the rest, and drinking the wine which they 
had taken from the Ciconians. 

There seemed to be no people living on 
this island, but as they looked across the 
water to another one near by, they saw 
smoke rising from among the trees, and 
heard the voices of men. That night they 
rested, but the next morning Odysseus 
took his own crew with him, and bidding 
the others wait for him, went to discover 
who these men might be. 

As they beached their boat, the first 
strange thing they saw, high up on the side 
of a mountain, was a great dark hole, like 
the mouth of a cave. It was overhung 
with laurel bushes. There was a yard 
around it, with a high wall built of the 
trunks of trees and filled in with stones. 
Odysseus told most of the crew to stay by 
the boat and guard it. He himself, with 
his twelve trustiest men, began to climb 
the mountain. They carried a goatskin 


The Giant Polyphemus. 53 

bottle of a certain wine which Odysseus 
had brought from the Ciconian’s city. 

The mountain side was very steep, but 
they pulled themselves up by roots and 
branches, step by step, until they reached 
the cave. Here, in the half light of the 
great, roomy cavern, they saw rows of jars 
full of milk, and crates of cheese. From a 
far corner bleatings came to their ears. 

They went farther in, and as their eyes 
became accustomed to the darkness, they 
saw little lambs and kids penned up to- 
gether. The men begged Odysseus to take 
some of the cheeses, drive the lambs and 
kids down to the ships, and sail away. 
But Odysseus refused, hoping that when 
the owner came, he would offer them some 
of the lambs as gifts. So they kindled a 
fire in the cave, ate some of the cheese, and 
sat waiting and wondering where the 
owner was, when suddenly the earth began 
to tremble. There came a terrible crash 
that sent them scurrying into the corners. 


54 The Children’s Odyssey. 

As soon as they dared to look out, they 
discovered that a giant had come in, and 
tossed a great armful of dry wood upon 
the floor. He was a monstrous fellow, big as 
a hill, with a beard like a shaggy pine-tree, 
and only one red eye in the middle of his 
forehead. A flock. of sheep and goats fol- 
lowed him into the cave. He picked up a 
great stone, so heavy that twenty ordinary 
men could not have moved it, and set it in 
the entrance for a door. Then he milked 
his goats and began to kindle a fire. 

The fire-light flickered up and shone 
upon Odysseus and his comrades. The 
giant’s lone eye glared. 

“Who are you?” he thundered. “What 
are you doing here?” The echoes of his 
terrible voice rolled and rumbled through 
the cave. Odysseus mustered courage to 
tell him that they were going home from 
Troy, and begged him in the name of the 
gods to treat them kindly. 

“Gods!” roared the giant, “I care noth- 


The Giant Polyphemus. 55 

ing for them. Where is your ship?” 
Odysseus craftily answered that the sea 
god had wrecked their ship. Without a 
moment’s warning the cruel giant seized 
two of the men, gobbled them up in a 
twinkling, took a huge drink of milk, and 
then lay down to sleep. The sailors wept 
for their poor comrades, but what could 
they do? Odysseus longed to draw his 
sword and stab the giant Cyclops to the 
heart. But he remembered that all of his 
men together could not roll away the big 
stone from the door. 

The next morning the giant milked his 
flocks, drank the milk, and seized two more 
of the sailors for his morning meal. Then 
he moved aside the heavy door-stone and 
drove his flock to pasture in the hills, with 
many a call. He had not forgotten to 
replace the stone, doing it as easily as a 
man would replace the lid upon a quiver. 

Odysseus and his men were prisoners, 
so for occupation they explored the cave. 


56 The Children’s Odyssey. 

They found the giant’s club, a pole of green 
olive wood, which he had left beside the 
fire to dry. It was as large as the mast of 
a merchant ship of twenty oars. Odysseus 
cut off about six feet of this, and his men 
smoothed it down. He himself shaped the 
end of it by charring it in the fire. When 
it was ready, they hid it carefully away in 
a dark corner. The men drew lots to see 
which four of them should help him to use it. 

Toward evening the Cyclops came in 
again, and drove all his goats and sheep 
into the cave. Again he lifted the stone 
and set it down in the doorway. And after 
he had milked his flock, he laid hands on 
two more of Odysseus’ men and made his 
supper. Odysseus took some of the sweet 
wine which he had brought, and which was 
so strong that no ordinary man could drink 
it without adding twenty times as much 
water, and craftily said: 

“Giant, will you taste of this, and see 
what good wine we had in our ships?” 


The Giant Polyphemus. 57 

The giant drank it all and liked it so well 
that he said he would give Odysseus the 
stranger’s gift, and asked him his name. 
For it was the custom in those times for a 
man to give some present, called “the 
stranger’s gift,” to every guest he enter- 
tained. 

“My name is No-man,” said Odysseus, 
“what present have you for me?” But the 
giant only kept pouring down the wine as 
fast as Odysseus brought it to him, until at 
last he could only grumble drowsily, 

“I will not eat you up until the last; 
that is your stranger’s gift,” and with those 
words he fell back fast asleep. 

Odysseus might well have been terrified 
by the prospect of seeing all his comrades 
eaten up before him. But he had no time 
to think of that; now was his chance. He 
brought the pole from its hiding place, and 
drove it underneath a heap of embers to 
make it hot. Then with the help of his 
men he lifted it and poised it above the 


58 The Children’s Odyssey. 

one eye of the sleeping giant. Another 
moment, and the giant was blind. Such a 
roar he raised that the whole earth trem- 
bled, and the sailors ran and hid them- 
selves. From without in the dark night 
came voices of his neighbor-giants shout- 
ing, “What is the matter, Polyphemus? Is 
some one murdering you?” Polyphemus 
answered, “No-man is murdering me!” 
Whereupon they said, “If no man harms 
you, then we cannot help you. Pray to 
your father Poseidon.” And thinking that 
the gods had driven Polyphemus crazy, 
they went back to their caves among the 
windy hills. 

In the morning blind Polyphemus 
sat guarding the doorway with his out- 
stretched hands. Odysseus had gathered 
some of the willow twigs on which the 
giant slept, and going silently among the 
flock, tied the rams by the horns in groups 
of three. Under the body of each middle 
ram he bound one of his men. Last of all, 


59 


The Giant Polyphemus. 

he crawled underneath the biggest and 
strongest of the flock, and twisted his 
hands firmly in its fleece. 

The sheep ran out to pasture, and as 
they went, their master felt their backs 
and counted them, never suspecting what 
precious burdens they were carrying. 
When the big ram came last, he grumbled, 

“What, my pet ram! Why are you 
the last? You always were the leader, 
going out and coming in. Ah, but you 
miss your master’s eye. If you could only 
tell me where that villain is hiding, I 
would dash him in pieces on the ground. 
I would repay him for this pain!” So say- 
ing, he let the ram go past. 

Outside, at a distance from the cave, 
Odysseus dropped to the ground, unbound 
his comrades, and they ran down to the 
shore. Driving the sheep along with all 
the speed their fear could lend, they tossed 
them into the ships, and climbed in after 
them. When they were as far away as one 
could call, Odysseus shouted, 


60 The Children’s Odyssey. 

“Polyphemus, when they ask you who 
put out your ugly eye, say it was Odys- 
seus, king of Ithaca!” Polyphemus was so 
angry when he heard it and knew they had 
escaped, that he threw great rocks into the 
sea and even tore off the top of a hill and 
flung it after them. And in his rage, he 
prayed to his father, the sea god : 

“Poseidon, my father, never let Odysseus 
reach his home. Or if he ever does, let it 
be only after losing everything he has.” 
Now the rock that he had thrown fell so 
near the boat that the swirling of water 
nearly washed them back to shore. In his 
rage Polyphemus sent another hill-top fly- 
ing after the sailors. But this fortunately 
drew the big waves back to sea again, and 
the boat with them. To this day the coast 
looks as if an earthquake had been there 



TURNER. PINXT. «*ThE AnGER OF POLYPHEMUS. 

“And to this day the coast looks as if an earthquake had been there. 









JEolus and the Bag of Winds. 


61 


VII. HJoeus and the Bag of Winds. 


Somewhere, far out at sea, there lies a 
beautiful island, where the winds come 
home to rest when they are tired of blow- 
ing. Since this island is never still, but 
floats about like a ship on the water’s 
breast, few people have ever found it, and 
those only by chance. Its cliffs rise high 
and steep out of the sea, and all about it is 
an unbroken wall of bronze. 

One day the stormy north-east wind 
was blowing his way home across the sea. 
Happening upon the boats of Odysseus 
with their crews, he swept them away out 
of their course, to the floating island. 

Here, with twelve sons and daughters, 
lived King H£olus, who ruled the winds 
— a merry, blustering, kind-hearted fellow. 
When he found that the strangers whom 
the north-east wind had brought were the 
great chief Odysseus and his followers, he 


62 The Children’s Odyssey. 

kept them with him for a month, feasting 
them every day. When the time had come 
for them to go away, he caught all the 
storm-winds and put them into a strong bag 
of ox-hide, and tied them with a silver cord 
so that not one might escape. Calling 
Odysseus aside, he gave them into his 
keeping. Only the gentle south wind he 
left outside to blow the sailors home. 

They sailed nine sunny days, and on 
the tenth they were so near to Ithaca that 
they could see men tending fires along the 
shore. Odysseus, who had been pilot 
night and day, lay down to rest. Mean- 
time the sailors began to whisper together 
about all the gold and treasures which 
^Eolus must have given Odysseus in that 
leather bag. First one and then another 
stole up to the bag and felt of it. Glancing 
at his neighbor, one would say: 

“See how Odysseus gathers gifts where- 
ever he goes, while we, who toil as hard 
as he does, come home empty-handed. 


63 


JEolus and the Bags of Winds. 

Let us find out how much there really is.” 
Finally they all gathered around the bag, 
and one, with many a glance over his 
shoulder at the sleeping Odysseus, stooped 
and untied the knotted cord. 

With a terrible roar, the long-prisoned 
winds rushed out, furious at their bondage. 
Back they swept to their island, driving 
the boats along. Odysseus, awakened by 
the noise, sprang up. He had only to look 
at the empty bag and the fear and dismay 
on the guilty faces about him, to know 
what had happened. He was so bitterly 
disappointed at his crew’s disloyalty that 
he debated in his own mind whether he 
would not throw himself overboard and 
put an end to his troubles. But then he 
thought of his home, of his beloved coun- 
try, his dear wife and boy, and his cour- 
age returned to him. 

When they had come to the island 
of JSolus again, he went with two com- 
panions to the king. The three were so 


64 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


ashamed that they would not enter the 
great hall of the palace, but sat down in 
silence by the door, like common beggars. 
At last the king heard their story, and his 
merry face grew stern. He said: 

“A man whose trusted companions turn 
against him must have done some wicked 
thing, so that the gods despise him. Go! 
I will do nothing more for you.” 

They turned away disappointed, al- 
though they knew that they had deserved 
nothing better from the king. And now 
they knew not where to look for aid. 


The Man-eaters 


65 


VIII. The Man-eaters. 

Since in their disobedience they had 
opened the leather bag, the sailors were 
now tossed about by every wind that blew; 
so that when at last they found a quiet 
harbor, they were glad to enter and seek 
shelter there. Bleven of the boats rode 
on and cast their anchors near the shore. 
Odysseus alone stayed outside in the open 
sea and moored his boat by a high rock, 
which he climbed to the top. 

Below him in the harbor, his beautiful 
fleet was anchored. Here and there on 
land little rifts of smoke arose from among 
the trees. He saw three men start out 
from one of the crews, to discover who lived 
here. The three followed a well beaten 
path down toward the town. They met 
a very tall young woman, filling her pitch- 
ers at a spring. In answer to their ques- 
tions she pointed to her father’s house 


66 The Children’s Odyssey. 

among the trees. And when they had 
entered there, they found a woman even 
larger than the one they had met At 
sight of them she gave a fierce cry, like a 
lioness calling to her mate. She was 
answered by a loud noise at the door, and 
the giant king came in, seized one of the 
men with a growl, and opened his huge 
mouth as if to eat him. The others fled 
without waiting to see what happened to 
their comrade, and had hardly reached 
the shore when all the rest of the Man- 
eaters came thundering down from the 
hills carrying great rocks, which they 
hurled crashing into the harbor. The 
boats were splintered, and the giants 
speared the drowning men as if they had 
been fish, and carried them off. 

Odysseus, who had watched all this 
from his rock, now made haste to return 
to his boat without the harbor. Knowing 
that he could not help them, he cut his 


The Man-eaters 


67 


cables and put out to sea — one lonely boat, 
where twelve had ridden in so gallantly 
but a few hours before. 


68 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


IX. Circe and the Swine. . 


Odysseus and his men, in their one 
remaining ship, remembering the cruel 
Cyclops and the fierce Man-eaters, had 
become cautious about landing on un- 
known shores. One day, when they had 
entered a strange harbor, they found that 
none of them dared to leave their boat, 
although they could discern no sign of 
any living thing on shore. 

Their store of food, however, was fast 
growing less. Odysseus took his sword 
and spear and went ashore. From a high 
hill which he had climbed to get a distant 
view, he saw smoke rising through the 
trees. He started back, and on the way 
killed a large deer that leaped across his 
pathway. He made a rope of woven wil- 
low twigs and tied the legs of the deer 
together so that he could carry it. With 
the heavy carcass on his back, he returned 


Circe and the Swine. 


69 


slowly to the ship, leaning on his spear. 
He gladly threw it down before the boat. 

“Let us feast while we may, comrades!” 
his voice rang out, “for none of us will 
die before his time.” The men were 
cheered by the words and by the sight of 
the great deer, and so they came ashore 
and had a glorious feast. But on the 
following day they were as hungry as 
before. As a last resource, they cast lots 
to see who should go for aid. Odysseus 
divided the crew into two companies, 
putting Eurylochus, a brave soldier, at 
the head of one, while he himself took 
command of the other. Then he took 
two pebbles, a black one for himself and 
a white one for Eurylochus, and put them 
in a helmet. Round and round he spun 
the helmet very fast, and the little white 
stone flew out. So Eurylochus must go. 

Sadly enough the little company started, 
for they did not know whether they 
should ever return. But as they traversed 


70 The Children’s Odyssey. 

the fresh meadows and fragrant groves 
their spirits revived. “Surely,” they said, 
“someone must live in this beautiful spot.” 

As they went farther and farther, they 
noticed that every sound had ceased. The 
little birds had peeped more and more 
softly, and now were still. Not a leaf 
stirred in the great trees all about them. 
The running brook made no more noise 
than if it had been frozen. Kurylochus 
began to grow alarmed, and was about to 
urge their return to the ship, when sud- 
denly a vista opened out before them. 

Through a rift in the interlacing 
boughs, they saw a palace, crystal white, 
as fairylike as frostwork on a winter 
morning. They stopped, breathless with 
wonder, and at that moment the silence 
was broken by a strange, sweet song, like 
a burst of sunshine. Instantly the birds 
began to twitter, the branches rustled 
softly, and the little brook talked to itself 
in a low voice. 


Circe and the Swine. 


71 


All of this was very strange, but im- 
agine their surprise when fierce-looking 
beasts with noiseless tread, tigers, wolves 
and spotted leopards came out of the forest, 
wagging their long tails and fawning like 
dogs, and followed them in the direction of 
the palace. Eurylochus did not feel safe 
with this unusual following, but the cheer- 
ful song still sounded. And the sailors 
were very hungry. “Someone is singing 
at the loom,” they said. “It is either a 
woman or a god. Let us call.” Without 
waiting for commands, they rushed to the 
entrance and clamored for admittance. 
The wide door folded back and they all 
heedlessly went in except Eurylochus, 
who feared some snare. 

But the sailors thought themselves in 
luck. There before them was the most 
beautiful woman that they had ever seen. 
Her hair was like the sun. She it was who 
had sung the magic song. And what was 
even more to their liking, a glorious feast 


72 The Children’s Odyssey. 

was spread, with plenty of inviting - chairs 
and couches. Circe herself made them a 
drink of barley, cheese and honey, mixed 
with Pramnian wine — and Circe only knew 
how many magic drugs beside. 

They sat down without delay, and then 
it seems, they forgot their manners. They 
ate and drank and kept on eating and 
drinking until it seemed as if they would 
never stop. Circe, the beautiful woman, 
sat by with her maidens and watched them. 
Her face began to change from its bright 
smile to a threatening expression. Yet 
her blue eyes had a mischievous twinkle, 
too. 

At last she arose with a long, shining 
wand in her hand, like a ray of sunshine, 
and pointed it slowly at each one of them. 
Then, what a terrible change was there! 
They began to be bristled all over, and 
their voices, husky with eating, did not 
sound like human voices at all, but more 
like grunts and squeals from the pig-pen! 



Circe Changing the Sailors into Swine, 






Circe and the Swine. 


73 


“You no longer deserve to be men, least 
of all princes,” cried Circe. “Off to the 
sties, where you belong!” And off they 
had to go, a drove of ugly, grunting swine! 
Circe flung them acorns and chestnuts 
to eat, and they fell over one another in 
their haste to get them, just as greedy pigs 
do in the pen. 

Eurylochus waited and waited in the 
marble portico, and knew nothing of what 
had happened. When a drove of swine 
ran past him, he hardly noticed them, so 
busy was he with wondering why his men 
did not come back. He dared not enter 
the enchanted palace alone, so he returned 
to Odysseus. 

The sailors listened in wonder while 
Euryiochus told his story. There was 
much talking among them as to what it 
was best to do. Odysseus, however, took 
his silver-studded sword and his spear and 
told Eurylochus to show him the way. But 
the latter said: 


74 The Children’s Odyssey. 

“Oh, do not send me there again. It is 
sure death. Let us put out to sea!” 

Odysseus answered with a frown: 

“No. Stay here by the boats if you 
are afraid, but I must go and find my 
men.” 

He went off alone into the forest. Yet 
he did not journey very far alone, for on 
the way he met a bright-faced youth who 
took him by the hand like an old friend. 

“You are brave,” he said, “if you think 
to free your comrades. How do you know 
that you will not fare as badly as they?” 

Odysseus did not reply, but looked at 
the young man in admiration, for he was 
very winning. The stranger continued 
with a smile, “Since you are brave and 
wise, Odysseus, I will give you a charm.” 
He looked about on the ground, hunting 
for something. He stooped and picked a 
little white flower that lifted its pretty cup 
at their feet. 

“Here it is,” he said. “Now, Circe 



Hermes Giving Odysseus the Magic Flower 


















* 







I 







* 









































* 







' , 












% 

























I 





















# 



































































































































Circe and the Swine. 


75 


will try to enchant you. She will put 
drugs into your wine to make you lose 
your wits. But if you will keep this little 
flower safe, she cannot harm you. Fare- 
well!” 

He turned and went away so lightly 
that he hardly seemed to touch the earth. 
Odysseus knew, by the flutter of tiny 
wings at his feet, that he was Hermes, 
the swift messenger of the gods. 

In spite of this encouragement, how- 
ever, his mind grew dark with fear as he 
stood before the palace gate and called. 
The shining door opened, and Circe her- 
self appeared and led him in. She knew 
that this was the great Odysseus, famed 
for his cunning and his wisdom, and she 
wished to try her spells upon him. So 
she welcomed him graciously, and bade 
him sit and rest. She placed a beautiful 
silver-studded chair for him, and began 
to mix him a drink in a cup of gold. 

The marble hall was richly beautiful, 


The Children’s Odyssey. 

but Odysseus saw nothing of it. As he 
sat there with bowed head, thinking of 
his comrades, he kept watch of Circe from 
the corner of his eye. He saw her pour 
a strange liquid into the cup which she 
presently gave him with a charming smile. 
He pressed the little white flower hard as 
he drank. Then Circe pointed her shin- 
ing rod at him and cried: 

“Off to the sty, and lie there with your 
fellows!” But Odysseus, instead of obeying, 
drew his sword and sprang toward her. 
She fell upon her knees with a cry of 
fear: 

“Ah, Odysseus, do not kill me! I 
knew that you would come; now stay with 
me! I will not harm you.” So she tried 
to disarm him with her gentleness. But 
he pressed the little flower again, and 
holding his sword over her, said sternly: 

“Swear that you will aid me and never 
do me harm.” Circe swore it, for she 
feared and loved Odysseus, because he 


Cirle and the Swine 


77 


was stronger and wiser than herself. But 
Odysseus could not rest until he knew 
that his comrades were in safety. 

“If you will have me stay,” he said, 
“then set free my men and let me see 
them.” 

Circe went to the gates of the sty 
and opened them. As the swine ran out, 
grunting and squealing, she waved her 
wand over each. The ugly hair vanished; 
the long snouts shortened; the little eyes 
grew large and full; and lo, they stood up 
like men — they were men, taller and more 
comely than before! In a moment they 
were crowding around Odysseus and em- 
bracing him, while tears rolled down their 
cheeks for joy at escaping such a dreadful 
fate. 

Then Odysseus called the sailors from 
the boats, and they all came, even Eury- 
lochus, who was ashamed to stay behind, 
although he did not yet feel sure that they 


78 The Children’s Odyssey. 

were safe. Circe gave them a grand feast, 
at which they all behaved with better 
manners than before. 


The Shadow Land. 


79 


X. The Shadow Land. 

It was so pleasant to stay at the won- 
derful shining palace of Circe that a year 
passed swiftly by before Odysseus said to 
his companions, “Let us go on our way 
again.” 

Circe declared that only one person 
could tell them the right way. That person 
was Tiresias. 

“But he is dead,” they cried. 

“He is, and you must go to the land 
of the dead and talk with him,” said Circe. 
Alas! Odysseus, though a hero, was almost 
discouraged by such a task. However, 
Circe gave him many instructions, and he 
put to sea. There was nothing else to 
be done. 

A long way they went, scudding before 
the wind for many leagues — a cruise no ship 
had ever made before— until at last, in the 
dark of the moon, they came to the Shadow 


80 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


Country. Odysseus with two companions 
walked along the shore until he found 
a rock of which Circe had told him, 
where two rivers met. There he dug a 
pit in the black earth, and sacrificed two 
sheep which he had driven from the boat. 
He let the blood of the sheep fall into the 
dark pit. Also he poured in honey, wine, 
water and barley meal, for offerings to the 
dead. Then, with his sword unsheathed, 
he;waited silently. 

A lonely wind was murmuring in the 
pine-trees. Down in the meadows the dim 
white mists began to move and dip and 
curl themselves into shapes, old men with 
long white beards, and little children, 
maidens in bridal veils, and soldiers stained 
with the blood of their last battle. 

They floated toward Odysseus on the 
wind, and hovered about the pit, eager to 
taste the offerings. But Odysseus held 
his sword above the pit and kept them 
away until he saw the one he came to see 



Odysseus in the Land of Shadows 




















» 

































• The Shadow Land. *>l 

— Tiresias, a blind and aged man, whose 
hoary beard reached almost to his knees. 

“Tiresias!” called Odysseus. Tiresias 
came nearer, tasted the offerings and 
answered solemnly: 

“Odysseus, your journey home will be 
made hard. You will suffer for the blind- 
ing of Polyphemus. His father, the sea- 
god, will be your enemy until the end.” 

Tiresias told him many things which 
he must do upon the journey home, 
and then he passed away into the night 
and Odysseus put away his sword and 
let the other shadows come. First among 
them was his own mother. His heart 
thrilled when she told him how she had 
died broken-hearted because he had not 
come home from Troy. He tried to clasp 
her in his arms, but she gave him one sad 
look and flitted away. 

Three other mothers came and tasted 
the honey; first the mother of Heracles, 
who was the strongest man that ever lived; 


82 The Children’s Odyssey. 

then Eeda, mother of the the twins, Castor 
the horseman, and Pollux the boxer; and 
Iphimedeia, the mother of those two 
giants who grew to be so tall that they 
piled the mountains up and tried to climb 
higher than the sky. Beautiful Ariadne 
was there too, whom Theseus tried to 
carry off to Athens, and whom a cruel god- 
dess slew. 

Of the heroes of the war came Ag- 
amemnon, king of men. He wept when 
he saw Odysseus, and eagerly stretched 
out shadowy hands to greet him, telling 
him the sad story of his cruel death by the 
hand of his wife, Clytemnestra. Great 
Achilles came, longing to be back on earth 
again. But mighty Ajax stood apart, with 
angry eyes, for he had died of grief because 
Odysseus threw him in a wrestling match. 
Even now his proud heart would not let 
him speak, although Odysseus called to 
him. 

Orion, the mighty hunter, with his 


The Shadow Land. 


83 


huge bronze club that never could be 
broken, came hunting the shadows of the 
deer. And standing neck-deep in a pool, 
whose waters rushed away whenever he 
tried to drink, was Tantalus, the saddest 
figure of them all. Odysseus wept to hear 
his cries, as he struggled to reach the 
tempting fruit clusters which hung always 
just a finger’s length beyond his grasp. 
This was his punishment for trying to 
deceive the gods. 

Sisyphus rolled up his heavy stone, 
that always tumbled down the hill again, 
and told his story to Odysseus. Then 
came the great Heracles himself. He wore 
a wonderful girdle of gold on which were 
pictured his twelve labors, the killing of 
the lion, the hydra, the two-headed dog, 
and dll the rest. 

“Odysseus,” he said, “you are working 
out a task as hard as mine was. Keep on 
with it— I finished mine.” So saying he 
passed away. And still the shadows came. 


84 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


Odysseus heard their various stories with 
such sympathy that at the end he almost 
thought that he had been through it all 
himself— had joined in the endless toil of 
Sisyphus, had starved with Tantalus, or 
had struggled in the fight with the hydra 
of the hundred heads. He could endure 
no more. Trying to keep in mind all 
that Tiresias had said, he turned back from 
the dark pit and made his way toward his 
ship. And so he left the shadow country. 


The Sirens. 


85 


XI. The Sirens. 


Out in mid-ocean lies an island where 
the winds never blow. For leagues 
around, the air is heavy with the breath 
of flowers, and the water is so still that 
the clouds can see their faces in it. On 
this island, in a flowery meadow, sit a 
band of Sirens. The song they sing makes 
every man who hears it wish to follow it. 
When his boat lands there, the cruel 
Sirens take him prisoner for life. 

Into this dangerous neighborhood, one 
fair morning, came the homeward bound 
ship of Odysseus, floating double, boat 
and shadow, on the still water’s breast. 
Odysseus, whom Circe had warned against 
the Sirens, felt danger in the air and 
planned accordingly. Among the stores 
he had found a piece of beeswax. This 
he rolled and kneaded for some time be- 
tween his hands. When it was soft 


86 The Children’s Odyssey. 

enough, he cut it in bits and with them 
stopped the ears of his men. But he, the 
hero, must endure everything. He wished 
to hear the magic song. He did not trust 
himself, however, but had his sailors bind 
him to the mast securely, hand and foot. 

Nearer and nearer they approached the 
island. Very softly and sweetly the 
Sirens’ voices called to the man at the 
mast: 

“Come hither, great Odysseus, whom 
the whole world praises. Bring in your 
ship, and listen to our song! For we can 
give you even greater wisdom, since we 
have knowledge of all things that happen 
in the world.” 

He bore it bravely for some time. At 
first the sound was only very pleasant. 
Then little by little, as they called to him 
more and more bewitchingly, it seemed 
that he must go. “But I will not,” he said 
manfully. Yet they kept calling, calling, 
calling, and now he could hear nothing 



The Song of the Sirens 













The Sirens. 


87 


but their voices. The air was filled with 
them; he grew dizzy, and a thousand furies 
within him seemed tugging to undo his 
bonds. With a despairing cry, he signed 
to the crew to let him go. But they, as he 
had told them to do, only bent to the oars 
and rowed faster, while two of them laid 
more cords on him and drew them tighter 
— until the wicked Sirens’ song grew faint 
in the distance and then died away. 


*v 


88 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


XII. The Dangerous Channel. 

And now a graver peril lay in wait for 
them. The way that they must go led 
through a channel so narrow that there 
was hardly room for the boat to pass. On 
each side there was a terrible danger, so 
that the sailors should have had eyes on 
all sides of their heads, if they were to 
guard against both these dangers at once. 

While they were yet far away they be- 
gan to feel the onward motion of the cur- 
rent drawing them into the channel. The 
booming of the surf came out to them, 
and they could see white clouds of spray 
dashed high in the air. About them on 
every side were strewn the shattered tim- 
bers of ships. The frightened sailors won- 
dered into what region of death they were 
being driven. They became so afraid that 
they stopped rowing. Odysseus talked to 
them, saying that they could not be in 


The Dangerous Channel. 89 

greater danger than when the Cyclops 
had shut them in his cave. And as 
they had escaped then, by keeping their 
courage and knowing what to do, so they 
should come through this danger safely. 
And they heeded him. 

Circe had told Odysseus not to arm 
himself, saying that he would need a pilot 
rather than a sword. But he was a soldier, 
and he felt more at ease with his two 
spears in hand. Thus armed, he stood in 
the boat’s prow and watched for the un- 
known dangers. 

As the boat was drawn by the swift 
current into the channel, the roar of the 
surf deepened to a deafening tumult, in 
the midst of which it was impossible even 
to think. The water all around was dark 
and streaked with foam. On one side a 
rugged cliff rose straight up to a towering 
height. Its sides were black and smooth. 
Somewhere in this frowning rock Scylla, 
the long-armed monster, had her cave. 


90 


The Children’s Odyssey. 

Odysseus scanned the cliff up and down 
its treacherous sides, but as yet she was 
nowhere to be seen. On the opposite side 
from Scylla’s crag was the hissing, boiling 
whirlpool of Charybdis. There the water 
whirled more and more swiftly until down 
in the middle the sailors could see the dark 
sand at the very bottom of the sea. Then 
slowly the whirlpool filled again, until it 
spouted the water high, dashing the spray 
over the tops of the tall cliffs. So it kept 
whirling on forever. 

The sailors, gazing into the fearful 
whirlpool, were trembling with terror lest 
they should be swallowed up in it, when 
Scylla, from the opposite cliff, reached 
down her six long arms and snatched six 
sailors, vainly struggling, and drew them 
up in to her cave. It was a fearful sight. 

Before she could come back again, a 
fortunate gust of wind had reached the 
boat and carried it safely through the 
channel, but with the loss of six good men. 


The Dangerous Channel. 


91 


The roar of Charybdis and the hoarse 
barking of Scylla sounded in their ears 
for many a long league. 


92 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


XIII. The Sungod’s Cattle. 


Odysseus remembered that among 
other things, the blind prophet had warned 
him to keep away from the cattle of the 
sun, for there was danger where they 
were. Odysseus did not know where 
these cattle were at pasture. One day not 
long after they had passed the channel of 
the two dangers, as they were sailing near 
a pleasant shore, the bleating of sheep and 
lowing of cows came to them from the 
hills. Now, although Odysseus was not 
sure of it, this was indeed the Island of 
the Sun, the island we call Sicily. There 
the Sun loved best to shine, and there he 
kept his beautiful broad-browed cattle and 
his sturdy sheep. Odysseus urged his 
men to speed past the island without 
stopping. But they were tired with row- 
ing, and Eurylochus spoke for them in a 
surly way: 


The Sungod’s Cattle. 93 

“You may be made of iron, Odysseus, 
but we are not. We want to stop here 
and rest; and we are hungry too. If we 
should keep on rowing through the night, 
a storm might come and dash us all to 
pieces.” Then all the sailors mutinied, 
and cried: 

“Eurylochus is right. We will go no 
farther.” 

Odysseus, only one against so many, 
gave way, but only after they had prom- 
ised him that if they found cattle grazing 
on the hills, or in the woods, they would 
not harm a single one of them. “For if 
you do,” said he, “the sun god in his 
anger will surely destroy you.” 

They moored their boat in the harbor, 
near a stream of fresh water. And after 
they had made their supper, they lay 
down to sleep. In the third watch of the 
night there came a tempest. They 
beached the boat in the early morning, 
fearing that the storm might carry it away. 


94 The Children’s Odyssey. 

“Now, comrades,” said Odysseus, “we 
have food in plenty on the boat. Let us 
remember to spare the cattle of the great 
sun god, who sees and hears all things.” 

And they cried, “Yes, yes, we will.” 

But all that month the south winds 
blew, and they could not put to sea, for 
the south winds would not take them 
home. So long as they had food, . they 
spared the cattle, because they loved their 
lives. But at last their food was gone, 
and they were very hungry. Near by 
in the forest roamed the herd of broad- 
browed, beautiful cattle, the favorites of 
the sun god. 

One morning Odysseus, sad at heart, 
went away alone, to think what he might 
do, and to pray to the gods to help him 
in his trouble. While he was gone 
Eurylochus, the rebel, began to talk to the 
crew. He said that it was hard enough 
to die in battle, where a man might win 
a glorious name; but to perish miserably 





























































































/ 


























The Slaughtering of the Sun God’s Cattle. 






The Sungod’s Cattle. 95 

of hunger was surely the unhappiest fate 
of all. 

“Then,” said he, craftily as he thought, 
“let us take a few of these cattle, and 
sacrifice them to the gods. And if ever 
we reach Ithaca again, we will build the 
sun god a rich temple and so atone to him 
for doing him this wrong. And even if 
he should be angry and destroy us, it is 
better to die quickly in the open sea than 
slowly starve.” 

So his companions, only too ready to 
be persuaded, drove off the best of the fine 
cattle, and killed and roasted them. 
Odysseus, returning, saw the smoke along 
the shore and smelled the roasted meat. 
He groaned with rage and grief, for he 
knew what they had done. 

“O Father Zeus,” he cried, “and all ye 
other gods! Ye let me lie asleep while 
they did this!” For he had fallen asleep 
a little while. He sternly rebuked the 
men, each one in turn, but then it was too 


% The Children’s Odyssey. 

late. The cattle were killed. The sailors 
feasted upon them as long as they dared, 
but all the time they were afraid. The 
skins of the slain beasts seemed to them 
to crawl and the flesh to groan. 

They hastily put to sea in fear of the 
penalty, which came swift and sure. A 
storm arose more terrible than any they 
had ever known. The waves grew moun- 
tain-high. The wind howled like the 
voice of the angry sun god himself. 
Lightning struck the ship and tore it into 
a thousand splinters. The sailors had no 
more strength than little birds before the 
tempest. One by one they sank into 
the sea. 

Odysseus alone clung to the broken 
mast of his boat, while the deadly winds 
drifted him back toward the dangerous 
channel. Crash! crash! went the breakers, 
and tossed him high in the air. He gave 
one cry to the gods for aid. The friendly 
branches of a fig tree that overhung the 


The Sungod’s Cattle. 


97 


whirlpool caught him as he fell. There 
he clung, as a bat clings under the eaves, 
until he saw the boat’s mast coming up 
again out of the whirlpool. Then he let 
go hands and feet, dropped, caught the 
mast and held to it, and little by little 
drifted out of danger. 


98 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


XIV. Calypso and the Raft. 


Flowers were always blooming - upon 
the island where Calypso lived. And 
Calypso herself was like a flower, though 
a poisonous one. At first sight she seemed 
very beautiful, with her fair hair and her 
starry eyes, but afterward, — well, we 
shall see. 

The most beautiful spot in the island 
was Calypso’s cave. Trees grew around 
it, alder, and poplar, and fragrant cypress, 
where long-winged sea-birds built their 
nests. Clear water rippled down from 
springs near by, and kept the meadows 
green. On every side soft beds of violet 
arid sweet mint blossomed in dreamlike 
stillness. The cave itself was cool and 
shadowy and overhung with nodding 
vines. From somewhere deep within it 
came the fragrance of burnt sandalwood 
and cedar. 


99 


Calypso and the Baft. 

Since the beauty of the place and of 
Calypso might have tempted even the gods 
to stay, it was no wonder that Odysseus, 
tired, of drifting about on a spar of his 
wrecked ship, said when he landed here, 
“It is so restful — I will stay a little while.” 

Time went by, and the little while grew 
seven long years. He was not happy, for 
he wanted to be up and going. But he 
had grown so used to living lazily, with 
every wish fulfilled, that he could not 
think of any plan to get away. Every day 
he went out and walked alone along the 
shore, clad in enchanted garments given 
to him by Calypso, and gazed long and 
earnestly across the water toward Ithaca. 
What a welcome sight would have been 
the white wings of a ship! But ships 
never came that way. Day after day 
Odysseus shed the bitter tears of home- 
sickness. 

However, he knew that he would never 
get away by sitting still and weeping 


ioo The Children’s Odyssey. 

He thought of his wife and little son in 
far-away Ithaca, and then he thought of 
the charm which had held him here for 
seven long years, like a slave. He came 
to himself at last, and hated Calypso 
heartily. Now she seemed hideous to 
him, so that he could not bear to look at 
her. And day by day he longed more for 
his home. Then something happened. 

Calypso, one fair day, sat spinning in 
her cave and singing a magic song. A 
shadow fell in the doorway. She turned 
and saw a figure that she knew, for the 
gods know one another, although they live 
in various distant places. 

“Calypso,” said the messenger, “you 
must let Odysseus go, and do it quickly. 
Athene, the wise goddess, sends you 
word.” He vanished, with a flash of tiny 
wings— for he was Hermes,— and Calypso 
bent her head upon her knees and shud- 
dered. She wished to keep Odysseus 
always, but she dared not disobey. She 


Calypso and the Raft. 101 

went down to the water’s edge and found 
him. 

“Dry your tears,” said she, “for you 
are going home. Come, build yourself a 
raft, and I will help you.” 

Odysseus could not believe her words. 
Still looking seaward, he said bitterly, 

“Why do you mock me? I will not 
go upon the cruel sea in a frail raft unless 
you swear that you are not plotting for 
my ruin.” 

Calypso declared that she was not, and 
that she only pitied him. Once more, 
however, she offered him temptation. If 
he would only stay, she said, he would be 
young and strong forever, like the gods. 
And if he could know the troubles yet 
before him in going, he would surely stay. 
He only said, 

“I have had troubles. The thought of 
them no longer frightens me. I will go 
home.” Then Calypso knew that she had 
no more power over him. 


102 The Children’s Odyssey. 

She went with him to the forest and 
showed him where all the finest timbers 
were, and gave him tools to work with. 
Odysseus cut down twenty trees, from 
those that were dryest, so that they would 
float. He then trimmed them with an 
axe, smoothing them skillfully, until they 
were all of the same size. Then with an 
augur he bored holes in each, and fastened 
them together with pins and crossbeams. 
Along the sides he raised a sort of gun- 
wale, made of many standing pieces, with 
long timbers laid along the top. He 
shaped one of the straight logs into a mast, 
and hung a yard-arm on it, to support a 
sail. He made a rudder, too, to steer the 
raft. And then he caulked the whole raft 
on the under side, with willow strips, to 
keep the water out. Calypso brought him 
cloth to make a sail and this too he made 
easily and well. 

On the fourth day all was finished. 
Calypso put upon the raft a goatskin bottle 



Calypso Tempting Odysseus to Stay 



























V 

































/ 



















» 












































































































1 
























Calypso and the Baft. 


103 


of water, and one of wine, and a sack 
filled with food, — things that she knew he 
liked. Odysseus, using poles for levers, 
pushed the heavy raft down to the water. 
As it was launched, he leaped aboard and 
spread his sail before the breeze. And so 
with a high heart he bade farewell forever 
to the island of Calypso. 


104 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


XV. The Sea Bird’s Gift. 


Alone on his raft, Odysseus kept fear- 
lessly before the wind. At night he 
steered by the northern star, and each day 
by the sun. He met no ships; only the 
white gulls kept him company, wheeling 
by on their strong wings and calling to 
him plaintively. At last, far away, like a 
bright shield laid flat upon the dark and 
misty sea, he saw the country of Phaeacia. 
But just at that time someone saw him, — 
Poseidon, god of the ocean. Remembering 
the blinding of Polyphemus, who was the 
sea god’s son, Poseidon said, “This man 
must not escape so easily.” So he stirred 
the deep sea waters, unchained the winds, 
and gathered the frowning clouds, and 
there was a great tempest. 

Now, for once, Odysseus was afraid. 
The waves rose and broke over him, and 
whirled the frail raft madly round and 


105 


The Sea Bird’s Gift. 

round. The canvas was quickly torn away 
in the furious wind. The mast snapped 
and struck him as it fell. In a moment 
he was struggling in the cruel waves. 
Even the bravest soldier shrinks from 
such a wretched death. His clothing 
dragged him down at first, but it was soon 
stripped from him. Then he came up, 
spent but struggling, and laid hold of the 
raft. It tossed like thistledown in the 
whirlwind. But suddenly he saw a sea 
bird perched upon it, bearing in her bill a 
long strip of something like seaweed. 

“Poor wanderer,” she said, “Poseidon 
shall not destroy you. Take this girdle 
and strike out for land.” And she was 
gone. Odysseus debated with himself: 

“Is this bird another god, plotting to 
do me harm? The land is near; I will stay 
on the raft as long as it holds together. If 
it goes down, then I will swim.” As he 
thought thus, Poseidon raised a great dark 
wave with bending crest, and hurled it on 


106 The Children’s Odyssey. 

him. The logs of the raft scattered like 
straws before the wind. But Odysseus, 
striding a log as if it were a horse, quickly 
spread the band of seaweed beneath his 
breast, and plunged into the sea. It was 
a desperate fight, but slowly and painfully 
he was drawing near the shore. Borne 
up on a great swell, he even saw it. 
When he was as far from it as a man’s 
voice would travel, he heard the booming 
of the surf upon the rocks. But no land- 
ing place appeared. The rocky shore was 
steep and high. A wave rolled over him 
and threw him up against the sharp-edged 
rocks, where he had barely sense enough 
to cling, bruised and shaken, until the 
next wave swept him off again. With a 
great effort he swam out beyond the rocks, 
and along the shore, until he felt the cur- 
rent of a river. A faint prayer to the 
river god rushed from his heart. And as 
the gods help those who help themselves, 


The Sea Bird’s Gift. 


107 


he found himself at the mouth of a quiet 
stream where landing was an easy matter. 

For a long time he lay panting and 
exhausted, with a great weariness upon 
him; but at last his dauntless spirit re- 
turned. He took off the sea bird’s girdle 
that had saved him, and threw it back into 
the sea where she could find it. Then he 
lay down and kissed the earth, for joy at 
being still alive. 

But Odysseus had no clothing, and he 
was shivering with cold. 

“What shall I do?” he thought, “I shall 
freeze if I stay here by the water in this 
wind. And if I go up the hill and sleep 
in the woods, some wild beast may find 
me.” Yet he did go into the woods. And 
there he found two olive bushes growing 
side by side, so close together that their 
leaves and branches made a thicket which 
sun and wind and rain could not get 
through. Odysseus crept beneath these 
bushes. He scraped together a warm 


108 The Children’s Odyssey. 

bed of their dry fallen leaves, of which 
there were enough to shelter several men. 
He lay down in the soft leaves, and heaped 
them over him until he was quite hidden. 
And very quickly he was fast asleep, 
weary and half-drowned, but never yet 
discouraged. 



Odysseus Shipwrecked. 



Nausicaa’s Washing. 


109 


XVI. Nausicaa’s Washing. 


In Phaeacia there lived a beautiful girl 
whose name was Nausicaa. Her father 
was the king, and so she was a princess. 
In those days princesses were not ashamed 
to work with their hands. One morning 
Nausicaa awoke and remembered that all 
her pretty clothing needed washing. She 
went to her father and whispered in his 
ear, 

“Papa dear, could you have the wagon 
harnessed for me, — the high one with the 
good wheels,— to take my pretty clothing 
to the river to be washed? You need fresh 
clothing for the council meetings, too. 
And my brothers are always wanting their 
garments clean for the dances.” 

Her father smiled, and the princess knew 
that her request was granted, so she gath- 
ered her clothes together. Her mother, the 
queen, gave her a basket of good things to 


no 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


eat, and she and her maidens went out to- 
gether to the courtyard. There Nausicaa 
climbed into the two- wheeled cart and took 
the reins. With a crack of the whip and a 
clatter of hoofs they were off, the hand- 
maids tripping gaily along beside the cart. 
Through the wide gateway and out past 
the town they followed the winding road to 
the riverside. There by the spring, where 
the washing pools were always full, they 
stopped, unhitched the mules, and turned 
them out to browse in the sweet clover. 

They carried the clothing to the pools 
and stamped it with their bare feet to 
cleanse it, each one trying merrily to be 
the first to finish. 

The washing done, and the clothes 
spread on the bank to dry in the warm sun, 
they all went bathing in the river. How 
deliciously cool the water was! They 
played in it like river nymphs, and splashed 
it in one another’s faces. When they had 
had enough of this, they dressed and ate 


Nausicaa’s Washing. ill 

their lunch, and had a lively game of ball. 
The wind tossed their long hair about. 
The woods across the river echoed to their 
merry peals of laughter. 

Nausicaa, who could throw the ball far- 
ther than any of the others, threw it a little 
too far at last. It missed the girl who stood 
upon the bank, and rolled beyond her into 
the water. They all screamed, as girls will 
do; but in a moment they had all turned 
and fled as silently as frightened deer. For 
there before their eyes stood a strange man. 
And oh, what a wretched sight he was, 
wild-looking, dirty and uncombed,— poor 
Odysseus! Their screams had aroused him 
from his long slumber in the thicket. Stiff 
and bruised as he was, he dragged himself 
out, in eager haste to see a human face. 

Nausicaa, brave little woman, was the 
only one who did not run away. She stood 
her ground with princess dignity, while 
her all maids peeped out from behind the 


112 The Children’s Odyssey. 

trees, expecting - to see their mistress car- 
ried off. 

But Odysseus perceived at once how 
womanly and good she was, and so he told 
her of his latest misfortune. The princess 
called her maids and bade them give him 
clothing. They took him to a sheltered 
place to bathe, and left him clean garments 
to put on. Perhaps a stranger’s kindness 
never was so welcome as this of the young 
princess to Odysseus. 

When he had bathed and dressed him- 
self, he walked back along the shore. 
Nausicaa, as she saw him coming, said to 
her maidens: 

“How changed he is! I thought at first 
that he was ill-looking, but now he is as 
beautiful as one of the gods. Go quickly, 
give him food and drink.” And while 
Odysseus ate like the famished man that he 
was, she folded the clean clothes, put them 
away in the wagon, and harnessed the 
mules. Then she said to him: 


The Meeting of Odysseus and Nausicaa. 



% 



Nausicaa’s Washing. H3 

“Stranger, you may follow as we go 
back to town, and we will put you on the 
road that leads to my father’s house. When 
you have found it, and have entered there, 
go not to the king, but to my mother, where 
she sits beside the hearth. Stretch out your 
hands to her. For if she favors you, then 
you may hope to see your home again.” 

And with a warning to him to keep be- 
hind them at a little distance, Nausciaa 
and her companions started homeward, 
all'the merrier for having shown kindness 
to the poor shipwrecked sailor. 


114 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


XVII. At the Palace of the Phaeacian 
King. 


Odysseus followed at a short distance, 
until they passed a stately grove of poplar 
trees, and the mules and the cart and the 
laughing girls all vanished around a turn- 
ing in the road. Odysseus paused and 
looked about him. Here, Nausicaa had told 
him, was her father’s park. It extended 
as far from the town as a man’s shout 
could be heard. He sat down beneath the 
trees and breathed a prayer to Athene, for 
whom the grove was named, that the Phae- 
cians might treat him well. 

When the young princess had had time 
to reach the palace, as he thought, he arose 
and walked along the road toward the town. 
And as he went, he met a young girl car- 
rying a water jar. He asked of her the 
way to the king’s house. She answered 
that he might follow her, but in silence, 


At the Palace of the Phaeacian King. US 

and that he must not cast a glance at any- 
one, for the Phaeacians hated strangers. 

As they went by, Odysseus admired 
the good harbor, the trim ships, and the 
long and well-built walls of the town. He 
kept silent, as the maid had said, and it 
seemed that Athene had thrown a mist 
about him to protect him, for no one saw 
him pass. 

At the king’s gate he paused again and 
gazed around. The west wind blew into 
his face. It was sweet with the breath of 
apple blossoms. On the other side of the 
hedge grew thrifty fig-trees, olives, pears, 
and pomegranates. Some were in bloom, 
others hung with ripening fruit. To the 
left, in the mellow sunset light, the gently 
sloping vineyards stretched away, with 
their rows upon rows of trellised vines. In 
a warm, level place the raisin grapes lay 
drying. In another place workmen were 
treading out the juices from fresh grapes 
for wine. Still other men were bringing in 


H6 The Children’s Odyssey. 

their baskets filled with purple fruit. For 
in this country one could gather it the 
whole year long. 

There were gardens, too, about the 
palace, and they were gay with many kinds 
of flowers. Two fountains flowing in the 
gardens gave water for the town and for 
the palace. 

With a sigh of pleasure, Odysseus went 
on toward the house of the king. But he 
paused yet again before he entered, for the 
light within it was like sunshine or moon- 
light. The walls were all of bronze, the 
doors of gold with golden handles. The 
door posts were of silver. At each side 
golden and silver dogs were standing 
guard. Against the walls were placed long 
seats and these were spread with light, fine- 
spun rugs, the work of women. For the 
Phaeacian women were as skillful at weav- 
ing as the men were at building and sail- 
ing ships. The king had always fifty serv- 
ing maids who wove and spun, and also 


At the Palace of the Phaeacian King. 11 7 

ground the yellow corn into meal for bread. 
The hall was lighted by torches in the 
hands of golden statues of young men. 

The king and queen and all the house- 
hold sat around the hearthstone. They 
were pouring wine out of their cups to 
Hermes, as they always did before they 
went to bed. Nausicaa and her maids were 
there. They had not spoken of having 
met the stranger. But the firelight rose 
and fell and flared again, and lo, there he 
was, kneeling before the queen. It was as 
if Athene had wrapped him in a cloud, for 
no one saw him enter. They gazed at him 
in dumb astonishment. 

“Good queen,” said Odysseus, throwing 
his arms about her knees, “May the gods 
prosper you and yours! I came here 
friendless and alone. All that I had is lost. 
Help me to reach my home!” 

But the queen sat silent, looking at him 
keenly. She was wondering how the man 
had come by the clothes he wore, for they 


118 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


were made in the pattern of her own looms. 
Odysseus arose and walked away, and 
seated himself in the ashes on the hearth, 
like any common beggar. The hall was 
still until an old man spoke, — the oldest 
of them all. 

“O king,” he said, “Is this an honor- 
able way to treat a stranger? Come, bid 
this man arise, and sit beside you. And 
let him be treated like a friend.” 

Now when the old man had spoken, the 
king himself took Odysseus by the hand 
and raised him from the hearth. 

“Page, mix a bowl of wine,” he said, 
“and let us all pour a libation to Father 
Zeus, protector of the friendless.” 

It was clear that the stranger was to be 
made welcome. A dark-eyed maid hurried 
to bring the silver basin for washing the 
hands, and spread the polished table by his 
side. And the king’s son, sitting at the 
king’s right hand because he was best 
loved, arose at his father’s wish and gave 


At the Palace of the Phaeacian King. H9 

Odysseus his seat. The house-keeper set 
food before him, and the page mixed water 
with the sweet wine, and poured some in 
his cup. They all poured out a little on the 
hearth, as an offering to Zeus, protector of 
the friendless. Then they all drank as 
much as each one wished, and those who 
did not live in the palace went to their own 
homes, for it was late. 

But all this time the queen sat wonder- 
ing. At last, 

“Stranger, who are you?” she de- 
manded. “Did you not say that you came 
to us out of the sea? Then let me ask you 
where you found your garments.” 

“The story is a long one,” answered 
Odysseus. 

“Tell it,” the queen commanded. 

He began with the story of the raft and 
the shipwreck, and told how he had been 
cast ashore. He said, 

“I slept all night, and the next day. 
As the sun was going down, I was awak- 


120 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


ened by the voices of your daughter and her 
maids as they played ball upon the shore. 
I arose and watched them. The princess 
was so beautiful, I said to myself, surely 
she must be a goddess. And well she 
might have been, for she gave me not only 
food and this clothing which you see 
but far better, hope and rest and friends.” 

Nausicaa, sitting in the shadow by the 
wall, blushed rosy red at his words, like 
the modest little princess that she was. 

But it was bedtime. The queen told her 
maids to set a bed for the stranger in the 
covered porch, to lay purple rugs upon it, 
spread blankets over these, and woollen 
mantles on the outside for a covering. 
The maids took torches in their hands and 
left the hall. After they had made a com- 
fortable bed, they came and standing by 
Odysseus, said, 

“Stranger, your bed is ready.” 

So they all went to bed, the king and 


At the Palace of the Phaeacian King. 121 

his family and maid servants in the palace, 
the men servants and the stranger in the 
covered porch. 


122 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


XVIII. Odysseus Among the Phaeacians. 


The next day the king prepared a great 
feast in honor of his guest. In those days 
a traveler was well treated everywhere, for 
he must be a brave man who willingly ex- 
posed himself to the dangers of a long 
journey. 

Early in the morning, while the ser- 
vants were busy roasting oxen, sheep, and 
fat hogs for the feast, the king and Odys- 
seus went down by the seashore, to the 
assembly place of the Phaeacians. There 
they took seats on polished stones set side 
by side. And the people came there, as 
eagerly as if the gods had called them, for 
they had heard that a stranger was in the 
town. 

“Listen, my people,” said the king. 
This stranger — I do not know his name — 
wishes us to take him home. And we must 
do so, as we have always done for travelers 


Odysseus Among the Phaeacians. 123 

who came this way. We must launch a 
new black ship, with fifty-two young men 
to do the rowing. I will supply you with 
provisions. Go now, some of you, and 
make the ship ready. The rest, come to 
my house and we will entertain our guest 
with feasting and with song.” 

They did as the king said. Some of the 
young men went to the shore and launched 
the ship and made it ready, and the others 
followed Odysseus and the king back to 
palace. There they found many more of the 
Phaeacians who had gathered in the halls 
and porches. They were eager to see and 
hear about the newcomer, who seemed to 
have been cast up out of the sea. 

The tables fairly groaned with good 
things, — roasts of beef and mutton, chines 
of pork, bread in heaping baskets, and 
bowls of yellow honey and sweet wine. 
The page led in Demodocus, the blind 
musician, and placed a silver-studded chair 
for him against a pillar. His lyre the page 


124 The Children's Odyssey. 

hung on a peg above his head, and showed 
him how to reach it with his hands. A 
table was set near him, and a tray with a 
cup of wine. The people seated them- 
selves and made a merry feast. 

When they had finished, Demodocus 
took the lyre from its peg above him as he 
sat, and sang a song about the Trojan war. 
He sang of a quarrel between Odysseus 
and Achilles at a high feast. That day, so 
sang the bard, the tide of troubles began to 
overwhelm both Greek and Trojan armies. 
As he listened, and the memories of those 
old days came back to him, Odysseus 
caught up a corner of his purple cloak and 
threw it across his face. He did not wish 
the people to see him weep. But the king 
noticed, for he sat near and heard the sound 
of sobbing. When the song ended, Odys- 
seus dried his tears, took up his cup and 
poured out offerings to the gods. And 
the king said, 

“Now let us go out into the open fields 


Odysseus Among the Phaeacians. 12s 

and have the sports. The stranger must 
tell his friends when he goes home that we 
excel the whole world in athletic games.” 
He led the way, and a great crowd 
followed him. They went again to the 
assembly place which was beside the ships. 
Odysseus and the king sat down upon the 
two white stones. The people gathered 
around them and waited for the contests to 
begin. On the track stood three young 
athletes, the king’s sons, ready and eager 
for a foot race. The distance was meas- 
ured from a starting line; they bent 
with out-stretched arms; and away 
they dashed together. Little whiffs of 
dust rose after them. Faster and faster the 
twinkling feet sped on. The crowd 
cheered madly. First one, then another, 
was ahead; at last Clytoneus with a mighty 
effort shot past them all, and reaching the 
goal first, won the race by a plow’s length. 

The wrestling match came next; then 
boxing, leaping, and throwing the discus. 


126 


The Children’s Odyssey. 

Every man did his best to please the king 
and the handsome stranger. During the 
last event, Laodamas said to his brother, 

“Let us ask the stranger to try the 
games. He must be strong, — look at his 
thighs and the muscles of his neck, and his 
broad chest.” 

“Good,” said his brother, “Let us chal- 
lenge him.” 

Laodamas approached and said, 

“Good stranger, now do you show us 
what you can do. For surely the greatest 
glory a man wins in life is that he earns 
with his own feet and hands.” 

“Ah, Laodamas,” replied Odysseus, 
“do not challenge me, for I am sad at heart. 
Even now, as I sat here, I was thinking of 
my far-off home.” 

“Ay, to be sure,” spoke young Euryalus 
mockingly, “the stranger does not appear 
to be an athlete. He is more like a trader, 
or a miser, who cares for nothing but his 


Odysseus Among the Phaeaicians. 127 

gold.” The eyes of Odysseus flashed with 
anger. 

“Young man, your ill-mannered speech 
provokes me,” he said quickly. “I am 
worn with toil and trouble, it is true. But 
I will try the games.” He sprang to his 
feet, with his cloak still on, and seized a 
discus. It was larger and heavier than 
those which the young men had thrown. 
Poising himself, with a swift whirl he sent 
it humming from his hand. It flew far 
and away beyond the others. The people 
leaned over one another’s shoulders, breath- 
lessly watching until it struck the ground. 
Someone from the crowd ran out and 
marked the spot. “Ho!” he cried, “a 
blind man could pick out this one, it is so 
far beyond the rest.” 

Encouraged by the friendly voice, 
Odysseus threw off his cloak and stood 
with folded arms. 

“I challenge all of you,” he said, “for I 
can send another twice as far. And what 


128 The Children’s Odyssey. 

is more, though I am old, and I fear my 
joints are stiff, yet if any man will wrestle 
or box or run with me, let him come on. I 
am ready.” He looked around. The field 
was his. 

“Stranger,” said the king courteously, 
“The right is surely yours to challenge 
anyone. No man denies your skill. But our 
young men are not at their best in boxing 
or the wrestling match. Laodamas, show 
us some dancing. Perhaps the stranger 
will confess that we have graceful 
dancers.” 

Laodamas and another youth stepped 
out of the crowd. One of them carried a 
soft purple ball. They stopped, glanced at 
each other, and began, throwing the ball 
from hand to hand, slowly at first, with 
rhythmic steps backward and forward; then 
gradually faster and faster, bending, twist- 
ing, and leaping with marvelous skill. 
Their comrades gathered about them and 
beat time with their hands and feet. The 


Odysseus Among the Phaeaicians. 129 

purple ball seemed always in the air. 
Odysseus turned to the king: 

“Ah, that is wonderful,” he said. “Thy 
dancers do indeed excel all others.” 

The young men standing near were 
pleased to hear the stranger’s praise. His 
words went quickly through the crowd. 

“Come,” said the king, “let each of our 
twelve princes give this guest the stranger’s 
gift. For he seems to be a man of under- 
standing. And let Euryalus give some- 
thing too, for he was rude.” 

Euryalus unbound his sword. It was 
a costly one, with silver hilt and sheath of 
ivory. He went to the stranger and laid it 
in his hands. 

“If I spoke harshly,” said the young 
man, “let the winds sweep all such words 
away. And the gods grant that you may 
reach your home and see your wife again.” 
Odysseus took the generous gift, saying, 

“May the gods give you good fortune, 
dear young friend, and may you never miss 


130 The Children’s Odyssey. 

this sword.” And he hung it about his 
shoulder. 

The princes sent their servants to bring 
gifts from their rich houses for Odysseus, as 
the king had proposed. They took these 
gifts to the palace and set them down be- 
fore the queen. And she arranged them in 
a beautiful chest which she had brought 
from the king’s treasure chamber, together 
with a robe and tunic from her looms. 
The king himself gave a golden cup, so 
that Odysseus might remember him all the 
days of his life, whenever he poured out a 
drink-offering to the gods. Odysseus 
fastened a cord around the chest of treas- 
ures, and tied it in a cunning knot which 
he had learned from Circe. 

That night after the evening meal was 
done, Demodocus the blind musician, be- 
loved by everyone, took down his lyre 
again and sang to them stories of the war, — 
of the building of the wooden horse, and 
how the Trojans unwittingly brought ruin 


Odysseus Among the Phaeaicians. 131 

upon themselves by dragging it within the 
walls. “For Odysseus and his men burst 
forth,” sang Demodocus, “They burst forth 
from within the horse, and braved the 
fight. Odysseus won the day, Odysseus 
the wily and the brave.” 

Again Odysseus drew his purple robe 
about his head and wept. Ashamed to let 
the Phaeacians see his tears, he secretly 
wiped them away. But they had not 
escaped the keen eye of the king, who said, 
as the song ended, 

“Now let us have no more of song to- 
night, for there is one of us who is not 
happy as he listens. The stranger has 
some secret sorrow surely, since music 
brings tears to his eyes.” Then, turning 
to Odysseus, he said, “Stranger, your es- 
cort and your gifts are ready. Do not 
longer hide your name from us. Tell us 
why you weep when the bard sings the 
tales of Trojan heroes.” 

They gathered around the fire then, 


132 The Children’s Odyssey. 

and Odysseus at last told them his name, 
and his adventures. He began at the be- 
ginning, and told all the long, strange 
story, and their eyes grew bright with 
pleasure and wide with the wonder of it, as 
they listened to him. 


Penelope's Weaving. 


133 


XIX. Penelope’s Weaving. 


While Odysseus is telling his story to 
the friendly Phaeacians, let us find out 
what had been happening in this far-off 
island home during the twenty years of his 
absence. 

It was night in Ithaca. Since it was 
clear to all that Odysseus must have been 
lost at sea, (else, why did he not come 
home?) a crowd of princes from Ithaca and 
many other lands had come to the palace 
of Odysseus, in the hope that Penelope 
would consent to marry one of them, — for 
it was widely known that Odysseus had 
great wealth. These suitors spent their 
days merry-making at the palace, eating 
and drinking much, and amusing them- 
selves in various idle ways, while they 
waited for the queen to make up her mind. 
Now, however, they were gone away for 
the night. 


134 The Children’s Odyssey. 

From without, the palace of Odysseus 
seemed to be wrapped in darkness and in 
sleep. But there was one wakeful inmate. 
In one of the rooms set apart for the 
women, a solitary torch was burning. By 
its light a lady sat before a loom. Her 
face was pale and sad. Now and then she 
sighed deeply, and a tear stole down her 
cheek. She was not weaving. On the 
contrary, she was swiftly taking off threads 
from the loom, with fingers skilled by long 
practice. 

Every night for three years she had 
arisen secretly at midnight and unravelled 
all that she had woven upon the loom the 
day before. And why? The princes had 
been pressing her to announce her choice 
of a husband. But she had put them off 
from day to day, saying “Wait, this cloth 
must first be finished; for Laertes, my 
husband’s father, is old now and may 
die. And he must have a shroud.” In 
truth, she did not wish to marry any of 


Penelope > s Weaving. 


13S 


them, yet she feared their anger if she 
refused them all. 

To-night, as she worked by the flicker- 
ing light of the torch, she thought as she 
had often thought before, “I know that 
Odysseus will return some day. I will not 
finish the cloth until he comes.” 

There was a sound of footsteps and the 
shutting of a door. The queen stopped 
with her hand upon the loom, and listened. 
All was still. She bent over her work 
again, but from time to time lifted her 
head with a glance toward the door of the 
room. There surely were sounds without. 
She arose. At that moment the heavy 
bolt shot back, the great door creaked 
upon its hinges, and the suitors with 
flaring torches in their hand rushed in. 

“Ha!” they cried, “you are caught at 
last, for your maid has told us the secret. 
Come now, we will be cheated no longer.” 

But the queen drew her veil before 
her face. 


136 


The Children's Odyssey. 


“Princes,” she said with dignity, 
“what means this intrusion? Are you 
princes, indeed, that you break into a 
queen’s chamber at midnight like common 
thieves? Go. You should blush to have 
this told of you in Ithaca.” 

They looked at her in astonishment. 
One after another turned and left the 
room. But Antinous, the boldest, nodded 
his head over his shoulder as he went, 
saying, “You will finish the shroud 
to-morrow.” 

Penelope shut the door after them and 
turned the key. She looked at her work 
upon the loom. Her eyes filled with tears. 
“Odysseus, Odysseus,” she sighed, “When 
will you come back to me?” 


The Young Prince and His Guest. 


137 


XX. The Young Prince and His Guest. 


In the courtyard around the great 
doorway of the palace of Odysseus the 
princes sat on rugs made of the hides of 
Odysseus’ cattle which they had killed 
for food. Servants were busy in the hall 
near by, some mixing wine and water in 
bowls, some washing the tables with 
sponges and setting them for the next 
meal, while others carved great quantities 
of meat. The suitors were jesting and 
laughing among themselves, and playing 
games to pass away the time. These 
men were tall and strong and richly clad, 
— the foremost men of Ithaca and the 
neighboring isles. But they behaved as 
if they owned the palace; so at least 
young Telemachus thought, to judge by 
his look, which plainly said he did not 
love them. Although the son of Odysseus 


138 The Children’s Odyssey. 

and master of his house and lands, he sat 
among the suitors sad at heart and lonely. 
He was thinking of his father, wishing 
that he might come home, scatter the 
suitors, and be master of his own. 

As he glanced out through the gate- 
way, he saw a stranger approaching with 
shield and spear. He arose quickly and 
went to greet him, ashamed that any 
stranger should stand before the gate with 
no one to ask him in. 

“Noble stranger,” said he, “enter and 
welcome.” He grasped the stranger’s 
hand, and taking his brazen spear, led 
him through the courtyard and past the 
idle princes, who looked up from their 
game of draughts to gaze curiously at the 
visitor. 

The two entered the roomy hall. The 
young prince put the stranger’s spear into 
a well worn rack where some of his 
father’s spears still stood. Then he set 
chairs for himself and his guest somewhat 


The Young Prince and His Guest. 139 

apart from those in which the princes 
would sit when they came in to dinner. 
For he thought the stranger would not 
enjoy his meal in the midst of their 
boisterous din. Then, too, he wished to 
ask his guest about Odysseus — whether 
by any chance the two had met at Troy 
or since the war was over. 

A servant brought a silver basin for 
their hands; others brought heaping bas- 
kets of meat and bread, and bowls of 
honey, and set their golden goblets ready. 
A page came and poured wine into the 
goblets. 

The merry princes soon trooped in, 
flung themselves into seats and fell to 
eating. When some of them had done, 
they called for music. A musician played 
the harp and sang to them. In the midst 
of all this noise, Telemachus bent close to 
the visitor: 

“You see these men, good stranger,” 
he said. “They seem to care for nothing 


140 The Children’s Odyssey. 

but music, eating and drinking and play- 
ing games. They are here without my 
asking; and they are using up good food 
and wine. If they should see my father 
coming, they would want swift feet to 
escape him. But he is gone, and there 
is no comfort left us, for he will not re- 
turn. But now,” he continued, putting 
aside his own affairs, “tell me your name. 
On what ship did you come? For I am 
sure you did not come on foot. And is 
this the first time you have been in Ith- 
aca? And did you know my father?” 

“I am Mentor, chief of the Taphians, 
who love the sea,” answered the clear- 
eyed stranger. “I put in here on the 
way to Temese to get bronze. My ship 
now carries iron. There it lies,” and he 
pointed out beyond the wide doorway, to 
the black-hulled ship at anchor in the 
bay. “I came here because I thought 
Odysseus would be here,” continued Men- 
tor. “All the other warriors have re- 


The Young Prince and His Guest. 141 

turned long since, save those that perished 
by the walls of Troy. The gods must be 
detaining him, but surely he will not 
delay much longer. If he were bound 
with chains, he would find some way to 
slip them, for he is wonderfully cunning. 
But tell me now, are you really his son? 
For you are very like him.” Telemachus 
answered: 

“Yes, I am the son of that ill-fated 
man.” 

“Then surely the house of Odysseus 
is blessed in having such a son,” said 
Mentor. “But now, who are these men? 
Is this a wedding, or a drinking bout? 
These heedless fellows, feasting here— a 
man of sense must be annoyed by them.” 

“These are the chiefs who rule the 
islands near us,” said Telemachus. “Some 
of them, too, are great men here in Ith- 
aca. They say that my mother must 
marry one of them, and that they will 
not go from here until she chooses 


142 The Children’s Odyssey. 

one. She dares do nothing against them. 
And before long they will have wasted 
everything we have.” 

“Indeed,” said Mentor, “you do need 
Odysseus here to deal with them. J wish 
he might come now, within that gate, 
armed with his helmet, shield, and spears, 
as I once saw him in my own home, where 
he came seeking a poison to dip his arrows 
in. These men would get a bitter wedding 
feast from him! The gods alone know 
whether he will come. However, you 
must plan to drive the suitors away. 
Come, call a meeting of the council. Tell 
the chiefs of Ithaca your wishes, and there, 
in the name of the gods, command the 
suitors to go back to their own homes. 
Then prepare the best ship that you have, 
find twenty oarsmen, and go and seek 
tidings of Odysseus. Go to Pylos and 
question old King Nestor, or better, go to 
Lacedaemon to King Menelaus, for he 
came home last from Troy. If you can 


The Young Prince and His Guest. 14 ? 

find out that your father is alive, then, hard 
as it is, you may endure for one year 
more. But if you find that he is dead, 
come back at once and build his funeral 
pyre. The lady Penelope may then wed 
again, and you may plan to slay these 
suitors as you will.” He looked at the 
crowd of princes, some of whom had fallen 
asleep upon the floor, while others rattled 
the dice-box, loudly quarreling between 
the throws. 

“Now I must go,” he said, “My crew 
are waiting for me.” Placing his hands 
on the lad’s shoulders and looking into 
his eyes, “My boy,” said he, “you who 
are fair and tall, be also strong, that men 
in future may speak well of you. Heed 
what I say. Rely upon yourself.” 

Telemachus spoke words of thanks, 
urged him to stay, and mentioned gifts. 
But Mentor said, “Do not detain me now, 
for I must go. If you would give me 
something, give it when I come again, 


144 The Children’s Odyssey. 

and let it be as beautiful as you will, 
for what I shall give you is even better 
and more beautiful.” 

Once more he turned his large clear 
eyes upon the young prince, and then 
went his way, like an eagle in its flight. 
Telemachus was filled with new courage 
and with awe, for he knew that Athene 
herself, the wise goddess, who gave cour- 
age, had been near at hand. 


Telemachus at the Council. 


145 


XXL Telemachus at the Council. 


Early the next morning Telemachus 
came from his chamber, clad in his scarlet 
mantle and with his sharp sword slung 
across his shoulder. Said he to the 
clear-voiced heralds, “Go quickly, and 
call the council meeting.” The heralds 
hurried through the town, calling to each 
warrior, “O chief, you are summoned 
to the council.” 

The long-haired chieftains gathered 
very quickly. The young prince waited 
with impatience until all had come. 
Then with his brazen spear in hand and 
his two dogs following, he went out to 
the council, bearing himself so nobly that 
all the people gazed at him. The older 
men made way for him to sit in his father’s 
place. 

An aged chieftain was the first to 
speak. His son, Odysseus had taken with 


146 The Children’s Odyssey. 

him to the war. Nevertheless the old 
man loved his absent king and mourned 
for him. Tears were in his eyes when 
he arose and said: 

“Men of Ithaca, this is the first 
assembly we have held since our king 
Odysseus sailed away. Who calls us 
now? Has some man heard of the coming 
of an army, or is there some other public 
matter to discuss? May Zeus help him 
who calls us in his need.” 

Telemachus, who burned to speak, 
could be silent no longer. He arose, 
and taking his father’s scepter from a 
herald who stood near, he said: 

“Chiefs, I have called you here, not to 
speak of public matters, nor to tell 
you of the coming of an army, but 
because I am in trouble. Even the 
loss of the king my father could not 
be worse than this misfortune which has 
come upon me. My mother is beset by 
suitors, who have taken possession of the 


Telemachus at the Council. 147 

house of Odysseus. Some of these suitors 
are your sons, you who are leaders here. 
They declare that they will not leave 
until my mother marries one of them. 
They will not go to her father’s house 
with gifts, so that he may choose a 
husband for her as he pleases. No; 
they swarm here, killing our fat cattle 
for their feasts, and drinking our good 
wine, and wasting everything. I dare 
not deny them, for they are a hundred, 
and I am alone, it seems, without a single 
friend. I am ashamed to see my house 
being plundered so. And you should be 
ashamed, my neighbors, not to help us. 
And you should fear the anger of the 
gods. It would be better if you your- 
selves were robbing us, for some day we 
might make you pay for it. But now— Qh, 
if I only had the strength! I cannot bear 
it any longer.” And the boy— for he 
was only a boy after all— dashed his scepter 
to the ground and burst into despairingtears. 


148 The Children’s Odyssey. 

There was a moment of silence, while 
they pitied him. Then Antinous, the 
boldest of the suitors, burst forth: 

“Hot-tempered boy, what do you mean 
by putting us to shame? The blame does 
not belong to us, but to Penelope herself. 
For three years now she has been mocking 
us with promises which she has never 
meant to keep. Send her back to her 
own father’s house if you would have us 
go, for we will never leave her until we 
know that she will marry one of us.” 

Then said the boy with flashing eyes: 

“Indeed, I will not send my mother 
away. Stay on, if ye be bold enough. I 
will call upon the gods to help me, and you 
shall be ruined forever.” Even as he 
spoke, there was a rush of wings, and 
two great eagles suddenly wheeled about 
over the heads of the astonished company, 
looking down upon them with their fierce, 
bright eyes. It seemed as if the gods had 
promised an answer to the prayer of Tel- 


Telemachus at the Council. 149 

emachus. Then savagely tearing at each 
other with their claws, the eagles soared 
away again toward the right, over the 
houses of the town. 

In the assembly an old man arose who 
understood the flight of birds. 

“Listen to me, men of Ithaca,” he said: 
“This means that Odysseus even now is 
coming home. Woe is in store for the 
suitors and for many more of us.” But 
one of the suitors said: 

“Well, well, old man, go home and 
play the prophet to your children, and 
so keep them out of mischief. Plenty 
of birds are flying in the sunshine. They 
are not all sent by the gods. As for 
Odysseus, he is dead; and I should be 
glad if you were too, old croaker. Are 
you trying to please Telemachus, so that 
he may give you something?” And turn- 
ing to Telemachus, he continued, “Take 
my advice; let Penelope go back again 
to her own father’s house. There she 


150 The Children’s Odyssey. 

can have the wedding and arrange about 
the gifts. We suitors will not leave her 
until then, for we are not afraid of any 
man, nor any evil prophecies.” But Tele- 
machus said: 

“I will talk no longer. Give me a 
ship and twenty men to row, and I will 
go and look for tidings of my father. If 
I find that he is dead, I will come back 
and build his funeral pyre, and give my 
mother to another husband.” One of the 
chiefs said scornfully: 

“The lad might make the journey, but 
I rather think he will get all his news in 
Ithaca.” And after some more aimless 
talk, the council broke up, and the chiefs 
went home. 


Telemachus Takes Leave. 


151 


XXII. Telemachus Takes Leave. 


Telemachus walked alone by the sea- 
shore. Kneeling, he bathed his hands in 
the cool water. The council meeting had 
left him bitterly disappointed, and in his 
heart he prayed to Athene that he might 
find a way out of his trouble. He turned 
at last toward home, when lo, there beside 
him stood the friend of yesterday, noble 
and strong. Telemachus took heart again. 

“My lad,” said Mentor, “your father’s 
son must never fail in courage. Make 
ready for the voyage, and I will find you 
ship and crew, for there must be many a 
brave man in Ithaca willing to do your 
bidding.” The boy’s heart leaped at the 
words. His prayer was answered. He 
hastened to the palace, where he found 
the suitors in the courtyard flaying goats 
and singeing swine for their next meal. 
At the door he met Antinous, who laugh- 


152 The Children’s Odyssey. 

ingly took him by the hand and told him 
to be angry no longer, but to eat and 
drink, for the Ithacans would let him go 
to sea if he had set his heart upon it. The 
young prince answered gravely: 

“Antinous, I cannot be merry among 
robbers; but I shall go to Pylos.” Then 
quietly withdrawing his hand, he turned 
away. At supper the suitors mocked him, 
saying: 

“Do you suppose Telemachus is plot- 
ting to destroy us? And how will he do 
it, by bringing warriors home from Pylos, 
or by putting poison in our wine?” One 
said jeeringly, “No doubt he will be lost, 
just as his father was,” and added that 
that would be all the better, since then 
the man that Penelope should marry would 
have the house and lands. 

But Telemachus knew that he had one 
faithful friend in the palace. He went 
through the house to his father’s store- 
room, where he found his good old nurse, 


Telemachus Takes Leave. 153 

Eurycleia. This room held the most 
precious things— the stores of fragrant oil, 
the treasures of gold and bronze, and the 
clothing laid away in chests. Great jars 
of old, sweet wine stood there along the 
wall. The folding doors of this room were 
always shut, and the old nurse guarded 
the treasures day and night. 

“Eurycleia,” said Telemachus, “Fill me 
twelve jars of wine and fit them with tight 
covers. And pour me twenty well-sewn 
bags full of ground barley meal. Tell 
no one but get all the things together, 
and when my mother has gone to her 
room to bed, then I will come for them. 
For I am going away, to look for tidings 
of Odysseus,” But the good nurse held 
up her hands and cried: 

“Oh, my dear child, how came you to 
have such notions? Where in the wide 
world will you go? No, stay at home, 
my boy.” 

“Have no fear,” answered Telemachus, 


154 The Children’s Odyssey. 

“the gods are helping me in this. But 
hide it from my mother until she asks 
for me. She must not stain her beautiful 
face with tears.” The nurse gave him 
her promise, and went away to do as she 
was told, though with an anxious heart. 

The night had come, and all the suitors 
had gone early to their homes, sleepy with 
wine. From beyond the courtyard, the 
voice of Mentor called Telemachus. It 
was time to go. 

At the beach they found the ship and 
the sailors ready. Some of these helped 
them carry out the jars of wine and sacks 
of barley meal, and stow them on board 
ship. Mentor and Telemachus took places 
at the stern. The oarsmen loosened the 
ropes and sat down on the benches. A 
fair wind sang along the purple sea. They 
raised the mast, set it in the socket, bound 
it fast with forestays, and ran up the flap- 
ping sail. It filled and strained. The water 
hissed before the bow as the boat started. 


Telemachus Takes Leave. 


155 


The sailors poured a bowl of wine out to 
Athene, who was guarding them; and so 
they were off, through the darkness, and 
over the sounding sea. 


156 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


XXIII. Teeemachus Visits Nestor. 


At sunrise the next morning they sailed 
into the blue bay of Pylos. Hundreds 
of people were gathered on the beach, 
making an early morning sacrifice to 
Poseidon, god of the sea. 

The pilot brought the ship close in. 
The sailors moored her, furled the sail, 
and came ashore. 

“No shyness now, Telemachus,” said 
Mentor, “You must go straight to Nestor, 
and find out all that he knows about 
Odysseus.” Telemachus said, 

“But it is fitting for a young man to 
be shy when he is questioning his elders. 
What shall I say to him?” 

“The gods are helping you,” answered 
Mentor, “You will find words.” They 
approached the place where Nestor sat 
among his sons. Around him men were 
busy roasting meat and making ready 


Telemachus Visits Nestor. 157 

for the feast which always followed 
the sacrifice. When they saw the 
strangers, these men gathered about 
them, and grasped their hands in wel- 
come. A son of Nestor laid soft fleeces 
down upon the sand beside the seat of 
the king, for the guests to sit upon. 
And he offered them a cup of wine, 
saying to Mentor, 

“Stranger, make an offering to 
Poseidon, for this is his feast. And 
after you, let your friend do so, for 
all men have need of the gods. As 
you are the elder, I offer this to you 
first.” He placed the cup in Mentor’s 
hand. And Mentor, pleased to find 
the man so courteous, took the cup 
and said this prayer: 

“O Poseidon, bring prosperity to 
Nestor and his sons, for their great 
sacrifice, and grant that Telemachus 
and I may accomplish that which we 
have come for.” He poured out 


158 The Children's Odyssey. 

some of the wine upon the sand, 
and passed the cup to Telemachus, 
who said the same words, pouring 
out more wine. Then they sat down 
and held a glorious feast. After it 
was over, Nestor said, 

“Now it is fitting to ask our guests 
about themselves. Strangers, who are 
you, whence come you, and what is 
your errand here?” Telemachus took 
courage and replied : 

“We are from Ithaca, and our 
quest concerns ourselves alone. I am 
seeking tidings of my father, hardy 
Odysseus, who fought side by side 
with you at Troy. We know of all 
the other leaders of the Greeks, how 
each one died, who died, and where 
all those are who came home. But 
no man can tell us of Odysseus, 
whether he lost his life on land or 
sea, or whether he still lives. There- 
fore I come here to your knees to 


Telemachus Visits Nestor. 


159 


ask you what you know about him. 

I do entreat you, tell me all the 
truth.” 

“Ah, friend,” said the aged king, 

“You bring to mind all that we suf- 
fered during those years at Troy. 
There Ajax died, and there Achilles, 
and my own brave son, and many 

others. Who can count them? It 

would take years to tell of everything 
that happened. And through it all 

your father and I fought and made plans 
together. We never disagreed. He was 
the leader of us all in wisdom and in 
cunning.” 

“And so you are his son! I am 
amazed to see you and hear you talk. 
One does not expect a lad to speak so 
fittingly.” 

“After the city fell,” he continued, 
“Our leaders quarreled. Menelaus want- 
ed all the Greeks to turn toward home, 
but Agamemnon wanted them to stay 


160 The Children’s Odyssey. 

and offer sacrifices to Athene that she 
might grant them a safe journey. And 
so the army was divided. Half stayed 
with Agamemnon, but we came home 
with Menelaus and the others. Odysseus 
came with us at first, but changed his 
purpose and went back to Agamemnon. 
He must have been among the last to 
leave. I was among the first, so I can 
tell you nothing of him. But he may 
return even yet, for the gods favor him. 
All through the war, Athene constantly 
stood by him. I hope that she may do 
as much for you.” 

“It is too much to hope,” Telemachus 
answered sadly, “As for Odysseus, I have 
little doubt that he has long been dead.” 

“Menelaus may know more of him, 
for he went a longer way, so that he is 
only lately home. Go at once with your 
ship and crew, and question him; or bet- 
ter still, travel by land. I can lend you 
a chariot and horses, and my sons will 


Telemachus Visits Nestor. 161 

be your guides to Lacedaemon. Beg him 
to tell you all the truth, for he will do it.” 

Since the feast was over, Telemachus 
and Mentor would have gone back to 
the ship, but Nestor said, 

“The son of Odysseus shall not sleep 
on a ship’s deck while I or my children 
live to entertain him. We have plenty 
of good robes and rugs to make you 
comfortable.” 

“Telemachus shall stay,” said Mentor, 
“and he will go to Lacedaemon with 
your son. But I must go back to the 
ship and cheer my men. They need a 
man of years among them. In the morn- 
ing I will go about my business.” Then 
turning his large clear eyes upon them 
in farewell, he went away swiftly, like 
an eagle in its flight. And when they 
caught that marvelous clear glance, and 
saw his way of going, wonder fell upon 
them. The aged Nestor grasped Telema- 
cbus by the hand and said, 


162 The Children's Odyssey. 

“Surely the gods are with you, 
although you are so young. You will 
not fail, for Athene is your guardian.” 
They said good-night. Telemachus went 
to his bed in the echoing portico, and 
one of Nestor’s sons slept near him. 

In the morning Nestor sat upon the 
smooth white stones that stood before the 
gate, giving his orders for the day. He 
was preparing a sacrifice to Athene. His 
six sons, as they came out one by one 
from their sleeping rooms, gathered about 
him, and Telemachus came with them. 
The king sent one of his sons to bring 
in a heifer from the fields, another to 
bring the goldsmith who would tip the 
heifer’s horns with gold, and a third to 
the ship to bring the crew, that they 
might join in the feast. The wife and 
daughter of Nestor also came. The king 
began the sacrifice by the washing of 
hands and the sprinkling of barley meal up- 
on the ground. He said a prayer to Athene, 


Telemachus Visits Nestor. 163 

and cast the heifer’s forelocks in the fire. 
One of the sons then killed the heifer 
with an axe, and another caught the fresh 
blood in a bowl, for it was to be offered 
to the goddess. Then some of the meat 
was burned in sacrifice, and the king 
poured sparkling wine upon it. Slicing 
the rest, they roasted it on forks, which 
they held in their hands as they stood 
before the fire. 

Meanwhile one of the servants gave 
Telemachus a bath, and anointed him with 
oil. She also gave him a fresh tunic, 
and a robe to put on over it. After this 
he came out and sat by Nestor, and they 
all ate the roasted meat. 

When the feast was over, Nestor told 
his sons to get the chariot ready for the 
journey. Quickly they harnessed the 
horses to the car. The housekeeper put 
in good things for them to eat. Telema- 
chus mounted the chariot with Peisistra- 
tus, the son of Nestor, who was to be the 


164 The Children’s Odyssey. 

driver. With a crack of the whip they 
started down from the steep hill of Pylos 
into the level plain. And all day long 
the horses shook the yoke between them 
as they went. That night they halted at 
a place upon the way, where a friend 
gave them lodging. In the morning they 
went on again, past fields of waving grain, 
toward Lacedaemon, lying low among the 
hills. 


The Evil Plan of the Suitors. 


165 


XXIV. The Evil Plan of The Suitors. 


Telemachus had been gone from home 
a week or more. The suitors passed the 
time as merrily as ever. One morning 
they were gathered in the courtyard, try- 
ing to see which one could throw a discus 
or a hunting spear the farthest. At this 
sport Antinous and Eurymachus took 
turns in winning. As the former sat 
down after a lucky throw, a man drew near 
and spoke to him. 

“Antinous, do you know when Telema- 
chus will be coming back from Pylos ? 
He took my ship to go, and now I my- 
self am in need of it for a trip across to 
Elis, where I keep my horses. I am 
planning to bring home a colt to break.” 
The others stopped their sport, amazed. 
They had not known that he had gone to 
Pylos. They had imagined him still about 


166 The Children’s Odyssey. 

the farm, among the flocks, or with the 
swineherd. 

“Did he take your vessel secretly,” 
Antinous asked the man, “or did you let 
him have it?” 

“I willingly gave it to him for the trip,” 
was the answer, “What else could I do? 
He was in trouble.” 

“Who went with him?” asked Antinous. 

“Next to ourselves, the best men in the 
land, and Mentor went as captain, or a 
god exactly like him. I wonder about 
that, for I saw Mentor here yesterday 
morning. How could it be?” 

The suitors crowded near, curious to 
listen. The angry eyes of Antinous 
glowed like coals of fire. 

“Well, well, this is a great happening!” 
he cried. “We said he should not go, 
and here in spite of us he launches a ship 
and takes the best men of the land. He 
is becoming dangerous. Give me a ship 
and twenty men, and I will lie in wait 


The Evil Plan of the Suitors. 167 

for him as he comes back. He must be 
brought to grief for this.” The others 
urged him on, and they went into the 
palace to complete their evil plan. 

Penelope also did not know that the 
young prince had gone. But now Medon 
the page, who had been listening in the 
the courtyard, ran to tell her of it and of 
the suitors’ plan. She was so frightened 
that she could not speak for a long time. 
Tears rushed to her eyes. At last she 
faintly said, 

“Why did he go?” 

“He went to find news of his father,” 
answered the page. It may be that a god 
is sending him.” But there was no com- 
fort for Penelope. She sank upon the floor 
moaning in grief. And all her maids 
wept with her, as she cried: 

“First my husband lost, and now my 
son. And he went secretly, and did not 
let me know. I would not have let him 
go if I had known. Now there is no one 


168 The Children’s Odyssey. 

left but old Laertes. Call Dolius the 
slave, and send him to Laertes. Ask the 
old man, feeble as he is, if he cannot in 
some way come before the people of the 
town and cry out against these suitors 
who are ruining our family.” But the 
good nurse said to her: 

“It is my fault that you were not told 
of this before. He made me promise not 
to tell you, so that you would not grieve 
for him. Now bathe, and dress you in 
fresh garments, and go into your upper 
chamber, and there make your prayer to 
Athene, daughter of Zeus, to keep him 
safe. Surely the family will not be ruined 
after all.” 

Her words comforted Penelope, and she 
did as the nurse had said. She bathed 
and put on fresh garments, and with her 
maids she went into the upper room carry- 
ing a basket of barley to scatter as she 
made her prayer. 

Meantime Antinous and twenty men 


The Evil Plan of the Suitors. 169 

with him went down to the shore to pre- 
pare a ship for their voyage. And after 
sunset they set sail for one of the island 
harbors, where they would watch for the 
vessel of Telemachus. 

That night a dream came to Penlope. 

A woman whom she knew stood by her 
in her dream, saying, 

“Have no fear, Penelope, Athene herself 
is with your son. Seeing you grieve, 
Athene pitied you, and it is she who sent 
me here to tell you so.” The woman 
vanished in the dream, and Penelope’s 
heart was full of hope as she awoke. 


170 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


XXV. Telemachus Visits Menelaus. 

In the house of Menelaus, kinsmen and 
friends were making - merry. The sound 
of music and of dancing feet greeted the 
ears of the two travelers as they drew 
rein before the gates. It was the wed- 
ding feast of the king’s daughter, and also 
of his son. 

Servants came out to meet them, and 
unyoking the sweating horses, drove them 
into the stables, tied and fed them, and 
set the chariot up against the wall. Other 
servants led the strangers into the high- 
roofed house and to the polished baths, 
where the maids attended them, and 
dressed them in ■ soft garments for the 
feast. They entered the great, shining 
hall, and were given seats near the king’s 
throne. A servant brought a golden 
pitcher of water for their hands and 
poured it out into a silver basin, and 


Telemachus Visits Menelaus. !7l 

spread a polished table beside them. The 
housekeeper offered them many kinds of 
food, and the carver placed before them 
platters of meat, and set their golden gob- 
lets ready. Then said light-haired Menelaus, 
“Break bread, and have good cheer, and 
by-and-by when you have eaten we will 
ask you who you are. For you appear to 
be no less than princes.” He took in his 
hands the piece of roast beef which had 
been chosen and placed before him as the 
finest piece, and set it before his guests. 

As they were feasting, Telemachus 
whispered to his friend: 

“Notice the blaze of bronze around the 
echoing hall, and the ornaments of amber, 
of silver, and of ivory. This must be like 
the halls of Zeus on Mt. Olympus. I am 
amazed to see such wealth.” Menelaus 
heard them and replied: 

“No, my young friends, no mortal house 
is like the halls of Zeus. And this may not 
be the richest house in the world. These 


172 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


treasures I collected in my eight years’ 
wandering after the war. But I could be 
happier without them, if only the dear 
friends were here who fell at Troy. I 
mourn for them all, but especially for 
Odysseus.” Quick tears came to the eyes 
of Telemachus. He drew his purple 
cloak before his face. The king saw this, 
and was about to question him. But the 
wide door swung back, and Helen, the 
fairest woman in the world, the one for whom 
they had all fought so long on the windy 
plains of Troy, entered the hall. A maid 
hurried to set a chair and put a cush- 
ion on it, while another brought her 
silver work basket on rollers, and her 
distaff filled with yarn. She seated her- 
self. Her eyes were fixed upon Telema- 
chus. Turning to the king, she said, 

“I am amazed; for no man ever looked 
so like another as this youth looks like 
Odysseus’s son Telemachus.” 

“So I think,” said Menelaus, “and he 


Telemachus Visits Menelaus. 


173 


is like Odysseus, too. And when I spoke 
the name of Odysseus, the boy’s eyes filled 
with tears.” 

Telemachus could not speak, but the 
son of Nestor said, 

“It is true, O king. He is Odysseus’ 
son. But he is silent from bashfulness, 
before you and the lady Helen.” 

“Is he really here in my house?” cried 
Menelaus, “the son of my dear friend 
Odysseus, whom I would rather see re- 
turning than all the other chiefs beside, 
if only Zeus had willed it so!” 

The ready tears fell from the eyes of all 
of them, and they talked of Odysseus late 
into the night, until at last Helen poured 
into their cups a draught that made them 
forget their sorrow. 

“The gods have sent us many griefs,” 
she said, “but let us banish them until 
the morning ” 

They listened while she told them a 
story of the war,— that Odysseus, dressed 


I 74 The Children’s Odyssey. 

in beggar’s rags, entered Troy as a spy 
in the face of his enemies, how he found 
Helen, the only one who knew him, and 
having learned many things about the Tro- 
jans, went back in safety to his friends. 

Then Telemachus spoke, 

“O Menelaus, what can you tell me of 
him now? For I have come from Ithaca 
to ask this question of you.” 

“I will tell you what the Old Man of 
the Sea told me,” answered the king. “We 
were becalmed for twenty days off Pha- 
ros. What to do we did not know. ,We 
might have been there even yet, had not 
a goddess rescued us. 

“ Why do you not consult the Old 
Man of the Sea?’ she said, ‘for he can 
help you. Come to the shore at dawn 
and I will show you how to capture him.’ 

“In the morning I took three trusted 
comrades and walked along the shore. 
We found her waiting for us. Before her 
were four freshly flayed seal skins, and 


Telemachus Visits Menelaus. 175 

in the sand were scooped four hollows. 
She bade us lie down in the hollows, ancl 
fitted a sealskin over each of us. We lay 
there in the warm sun until midday. The 
real seals came and wallowed in the sand 
beside us, without fear. At noon out of 
the sea came the Old Man himself, to 
count his fat seals. He did not suspect 
a trick but finally lay down among them, 
like a shepherd with his flock. With a 
shout we sprang up and threw our arms 
about him. But the Old Man was crafty. 
He changed himself first into a bearded 
lion, then he became a fiery dragon, then 
a leopard, then a huge boar with gleam- 
ing tusks. He turned into water, then 
into a tree. But we held him fast, until, 
wizard as he was, we tired him out. He 
returned to his own shape and said, 
‘What is it ye would have?’ I asked him 
many questions, and he told me of my 
warrior friends from Troy. Last of all 
he said, ‘Odysseus lives, a captive on 


176 The Children’s Odyssey. 

Calypso’s isle, with neither ship nor crew 
to bear him home.’ 

“The Old Man also told me how to 
come home to Lacedaemon. Then he broke 
away from us and plunged beneath the 
waves.” 

So ended the king’s tale. 

That night, while all the household 
slept, Telemachus lay broad awake. His 
heart beat high with hope as he thought 
of his father, still alive, but sank again 
when he remembered that Odysseus was 
a prisoner. His thoughts went back to 
his home and the wicked suitors. It 
seemed to him that Athene stood by him 
and said: 

“Telemachus, it is not well for you to 
be so long away from home. Even now 
the suitors plan to cut off your return. 
Watch for them in the strait between 
Ithaca and Samos, and keep away from 
the island harbors.” So, he thought, he 
might never see his dear mother again. 


Telemachus Visits Menelaus. 177 

He had not even said farewell to her. 
It seemed as if the morning would never 
come. He tossed restlessly beneath the 
sheepskin coverlets. Suddenly he remem- 
bered the wonderful power of Mentor. 

“Surely Nestor spoke the truth,” he 
said to himself, “I cannot fail. Mentor is 
with me, and he is like the wise goddess 
herself.” Thus consoled, he fell asleep. 

When he awoke, the sun was shining 
high. He quickly arose, put on his tunic 
and his broad cloak over it, and went to 
meet the king. 

“O Menelaus, leader of armies,” he said, 
“let me go back, for my heart longs for 
home.” Menelaus answered, 

“I will not keep you if you wish to go, 
for I like to welcome the coming and 
speed the parting guest. But let me have 
the maids prepare a meal, for you must 
not go hungry.” He gave orders to light 
the fire and roast the meat, and then he 
went with Helen to a fragrant treasure 


178 The Children’s Odyssey. 

chamber heaped with precious things. 
The king chose a double cup and a bowl 
of silver for his gifts, and Helen, lingering 
beside the chest full of embroidered robes 
that she herself had woven, drew forth one 
that sparkled like a star. 

“This,” she said, “I will give to the 
young prince for his bride.” They laid 
the gifts before him with many friendly 
words. 

The chariot and horses were waiting 
in the courtyard. The two young men 
had poured their libations to the gods and 
said farewell, when someone pointed out, 
high in air, an eagle carrying a white 
goose in his talons. Men and women 
ran shouting after, for the goose belonged 
to the farmyard. As the eagle drew 
near, he flew to the right before the 
horses. All the friends of Telemachus 
were glad, for they thought this a lucky 
sign for the journey. 

The queen stood in the doorway. 


Telemachus Visits Menelaus. 


179 


“See,” she said, “the eagle swooped 
down from his home in the hills and 
caught the farmyard goose. That is the 
way Odysseus will come home and take 
revenge.” 

“Zeus grant it,” said Telemachus, with 
a high heart, “and thanks to you for say- 
ing so.” 

The horses started at the touch of the 
whip. And so they journeyed back to sandy 
Pylos, thence to the ships, and far across 
the sea toward Ithaca. But they kept 
away from those dangerous island harbors, 
where the dream of Telemachus had told 
him that the suitors lay in wait for him. 


180 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


XXVI. Odysseus ’''Leaves the 
Phaeacians. 

When Odysseus had finished telling 
his story to the king’s household, no 
sound was to be heard save the embers 
crackling on the hearth. The listeners 
were busy thinking, some of Polyphemus, 
the blinded giant, others of Calypso’s 
wonderful island, and of Circe and the 
swine. The king was the first to speak: 

“Odysseus, no more hardship shall be 
yours. We will see that you reach home 
in safety.” All the listeners were pleased 
to hear him say it. “The chest of gifts 
is ready,” he continued, “and to-morrow 
let each man here bring a tripod and a 
caldron in addition.” Then, for it was 
late, the guests went home, and all the 
house was quiet for the night. 

The next day the Phaeacian king had 
still another sacrifice and feast. But now 


Odysseus Leaves the Phaeacians. lg l 

Odysseus was impatient to be gone. He 
kept glancing at the sun, as if he would 
hasten its setting, as a plowman does at 
supper time, after his long day’s work. 
When at last the feast was over, he said, 
“O king, now pour a libation, and send 
me on my way, and may the gods grant 
you good fortune.” 

“You shall go,” answered the king, 
“but first let us make a prayer to Zeus 
for your safe journey.” They lifted their 
cups, filled with sweet wine, and as they 
poured, there was a prayer in each man’s 
heart that the gods might guide Odysseus 
home. He placed his own cup in the 
queen’s hand, saying, 

“Farewell, good queen, I go my way. 
May the gods bring long life and happi- 
ness to you and yours.” He turned and 
passed out through the wide doorway. 

As he crossed the covered porch he 
saw, leaning against a pillar, a girlish 
figure. 


182 The Children’s Odyssey. 

farewell, Odysseus,” said Nausicaa. 
“When you have reached your home, 
remember us.” 

“Princess,” he answered, “I owe you 
my life and I shall be grateful to you so 
long as I shall live.” It was thus that 
he left the house of Nausicaa’s father. 

Servants laden with his gifts had al- 
ready gone down to the sea shore. The 
king followed them, and stowed the pre- 
cious things safely away beneath the row- 
ers’ benches. Odysseus went on deck, 
and waving a farewell to his kind friends, 
he gave the order to set sail. 

Swiftly and steadily ran the boat, as a 
strong-winged sea gull flies low over the 
water. Weary Odysseus, lulled by the 
murmuring of water at the prow, soon 
fell asleep. When the boat entered the 
harbor of Ithaca, they took him up, still 
sleeping, and laid him on the sandy shore 
of his own land. They placed the gifts 
of the Phaeacians beside him, safely cov- 



The Sleeping Odysseus is Laid on the Shore of Ithaca 

BY THE PHAEACIANS. 




Odysseus Leaves the Phaeacians. 183 

ered with rugs. Then they sailed away 
and left him there. 

As the Phaeacian ship returned to its 
own harbor, a strange fate befell it, for 
suddenly it was stopped within the bay, 
and turned into a towering rock. The 
people on the shore could not believe 
that this had happened, until the king 
said: 

“Now the old prophecy has come to 
pass, that Poseidon would destroy a Phae- 
acian ship, and raise a towering rock be- 
fore the city. For it is not pleasing to 
the great god of the sea that we should 
rescue shipwrecked sailors and take them 
to their homes.” And of all shipwrecked 
sailors, Odysseus was the one most hated 
by the sea god, who was the father of 
the blinded Polyphemus. So the Phaeaci- 
ans, in great fear, made .sacrifices to 
Poseidon, and never dared to take another 
traveler home. 


184 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


XXVII. The Disguise. 

At length Odysseus awoke, stood up, 
and gazed around him. Where was he? 
At first he could not tell. The shore 
seemed strangely familiar, and that 
winding road over the hills, whither did 
it lead? Where had he seen those rocks, 
and trees, and sheltered coves? Had he 
been left on some deserted island? He 
struck his hands upon his thighs, and 
groaned. Why had the Phaeacians done 
this? They had promised to bring him 
home. He looked about him again; but 
a mist was over everything, and he could 
not see. He counted his treasures to be 
sure that he had them all. Then he 
walked anxiously along the shore. 

What next? As if in answer to the 
question, a shepherd lad came strolling 
down the path. At least he seemed a 
shepherd, although his mantle was finely 


The Disguise. 


185 


woven and his face was delicate. Odys- 
seus gladly went to meet him. 

“Friend, what land is this?” he asked. 

“You must have come a long way,” 
said the shepherd, “if you have not heard 
of Ithaca. It is a rugged country, to be 
sure, and the roads are unfit for driving 
horses, yet after all it is not so very poor. 
We have good pastures for cattle on 
these hills. Good grain is growing in the 
valley yonder, and fruitful vineyards on 
the sunny slopes. They know of Ithaca 
as far away as Troy, — and that is a great 
distance, so they say. Have you come 
far?” 

Odysseus rejoiced at these words, but 
he did not know whether the shepherd 
would prove to be a friend or a foe. So 
he invented a tale about himself: 

“I killed an enemy in far off Crete, 
and then I fled to save my life,” — he 
stopped, for the shepherd was smiling. 
A wonderful change had come over him, 


186 The Children's Odyssey. 

so that now Odysseus saw the shepherd 
lad no longer, but a queenly woman, 
fair and tall. She patted him gently with 
her hand. 

“You are a very wily man, Odysseus,” 
she said, “but you cannot deceive the 
gods. I have been near you always, 
guarding you in your toil and your 
adventures, and yet you did not know 
me.” 

“It is hard for a man to know you, 
goddess of wisdom,” he said, “for you take 
many forms. Since we left Troy I never 
once have seen you, or known you to be 
near my ship. But it was you, I think, 
who led me into the town of the Phaea- 
cians. Now by my father’s name, tell me 
the truth, is this land Ithaca? I dare not 
think it is.” 

“I will show you all the landmarks,” 
said Athene. “Here is the harbor, here 
the olive tree at the head of it, and here 
the cave of the naiads, as it always was. 


The Disguise. 


187 


This woody hill is Neriton.” As she 
spoke, she cleared away the mist from 
before his eyes. And then he saw that 
this was really home. There by the road- 
side stood the old olive tree. The road 
itself led to his own door. Breathing a 
prayer of thankfulness, he threw himself 
down and kissed the earth for joy. 

But now, his gifts. Athene showed 
him a place for them, in the shadowy 
cave, near the olive tree. Together they 
hid the treasures safely in its dark re- 
cesses, and in the entrance placed a stone. 
Then they sat down together under the 
olive tree, and she told him everything 
about his home and about the suitors, so 
that he might plan a safe return and yet 
take vengeance on them. Odysseus said 
to her, 

“I should have been put to death in 
my own home, like Agamemnon, if you 
had not told me this. But if you will 
stand by and give me courage, I can 


188 The Children’s Odyssey. 

face three hundred men.” Athene prom- 
ised this, and told him also not to go at 
once to the palace, but first to visit the 
hut of Eumaeus the swineherd, for he 
would be a loyal friend. 

Then she touched him gently with her 
wand, and in a moment he became a 
a shriveled and gray -haired old man. 
His clothes turned to rough deerskin, tat- 
tered and smoke-begrimed. In his hand 
was a staff; a miserable wallet full of holes 
hung on a cord around his neck. You 
would have thought him only a common 
beggar,— not in the least a king. 


The Beggar and the Swineherd. 189 


XXVIII. The Beggar and the 
Swineherd. 


Odysseus climbed the rocky pathway 
from the harbor, and went along the road 
over the hills and through the wooded 
country until he came to his own farm. 

Eumaeus, the aged swineherd, sat by 
the door of his hut, making himself a 
pair of sandals' out of well-tanned hide. 
As he worked, he heard the contented 
grunting of his hogs in the sties near by. 
Eumaeus had built these sties with his 
own hands, after his master Odysseus had 
gone off to the war. Twelve pens sur- 
rounded an open yard, fenced by a high, 
strong wall, with thorn brush on the top 
of it. Every 'well-laid stone showed forth 
the swineherd’s faithfulness. 

Four watchdogs lay dozing at their 
master’s feet. Suddenly they sprang up 
and rushed out barking savagely. An old 


190 The Children’s Odyssey. 

beggar, staff in hand, was coming slowly 
down the road. The dogs threatened to tear 
him to pieces, but he wisely let go his staff, 
and sat down calmly by the roadside. 
Even then, he would have been in dan- 
ger of his life, there at his own gate, had 
not Eumaeus dropped his work and 
rushed out, and shouted at the dogs, driv- 
ing them off with a shower of stones. 

“Those dogs would have brought shame_ 
on me by killing you,” he said to the 
beggar, “as if I had not trouble enough 
already. For I sit here and tend fat hogs 
for strangers to eat, while my dear mas- 
ter, the best that ever was, is wandering 
somewhere in foreign lands, hungry per- 
haps, if indeed he is alive. Ah, well, — 
come in, old man, have something to eat, 
and tell me what your own troubles are.” 
The beggar followed him into the hut. 
The swineherd made a seat for him upon 
the bed, which was only a pile of brush- 
wood, covered with calf skins. 


The Beggar and the Swineherd. 191 

“May the gods bless you for treating 
me so kindly,” said the beggar as he sat 
down. 

“Far be it from me to turn anyone 
away from my door,” answered the honest 
swineherd, “Father Zeus protects the stran- 
ger, and I am serving him when I serve 
you. My good master would have re- 
warded me for it, but he is gone. I only 
wish all Helen’s tribe had perished too!” 
So saying, he buckled on his belt and knife 
and went out to the sties. In a short time 
he came in again with two small pigs, 
which he had killed and dressed. He be- 
gan to roast them over the fire, talking 
as> he worked. 

“I am offering you what servants have, 
these puny little pigs. The fat ones go 
to the palace every day. The queen’s 
suitors, if you please, will have none but 
the best. My master’s means were vast, 
with all his flocks and herds, his droves 
of goats and swine, but no amount of 


192 The Children’s Odyssey. 

wealth can stand such' wasting.” He 
placed the food before the beggar, who 
ate hungrily. Eumaeus filled his own cup 
with wine to the brim, and gave it to his 
guest. The beggar gladly drank, and 
then he said, 

“Tell me about your master. You say 
he is away. Perhaps I may be able to 
give you news of him, for I have traveled 
in many lands.” 

“Old man, you could not get his wife 
and son to trust your story,” said the 
swineherd, sitting down to work on his 
sandals again. “Every ragged tramp that 
comes to Ithaca goes straight to the queen 
with a story of Odysseus, hoping to get 
a meal. And she listens eagerly, and 
treats the beggar well, when all the time 
there is not one word of truth in all he 
says. You would make up a story too, I 
suppose, if we would give you a cloak 
and tunic for it. But save your breath, 
for I doubt not that he is dead.” Tears 


193 


The Beggar and the Swineherd. 

came to the swineherd’s eyes. “He loved 
me, and was kind to me,” he said. 

“Friend,” said the beggar, “You may 
not believe me, but I say to you upon 
my oath, Odysseus will return. He will 
be here before the next new moon, and 
take his vengeance. Make me no gifts 
for saying so, until he comes.” 

Eumaeus answered, “Then I shall 
never make them, for he will not come. 
And yet his coming is the one thing that 
we long for— Penelope and Laertes and 
Telemachus and I. My heart aches when 
I think of him. But it cannot be. He has 
been hated utterly by all the gods. Even 
Telemachus, his son, who, I have often 
said, would be as great a man as his father, 
has taken a strange notion now and gone 
away to Pylos for news of Odysseus. I 
have no doubt that the suitors are plan- 
ning to waylay him on the journey home.” 

The swineherd’s face grew anxious. 
“But come,” he continued with a brighter 


I 94 The Children’s Odyssey. 

look, “let us talk no longer of troubles. 
Tell me of yourself.” 

Fearing to reveal himself too soon, 
Odysseus told him a long tale in which 
he said that he had known Odysseus in 
the war. He wove into the story so much 
that was true about himself, that the 
swineherd was almost persuaded to believe 
him. At the end he added, 

“Are you still in doubt? If what I say 
does not come true, then have me thrown 
down from the high rocks, that other beg- 
gars may beware of telling lying tales.” 

“What a fine thing that would be,” 
exclaimed the swineherd, “for me to wel- 
come you and treat you kindly here, and 
then turn about and slay you! How could 
I pray to Zeus with a clear conscience 
then?” And so they talked. 

That evening when the other herdsmen 
had come in to supper, and it was storm- 
ing out-of-doors, the pretended beggar 
told them a story of Odysseus in the war. 


The Beggar and the Swineherd. lys 

“We lay in hiding,” he began, “under 
the walls of Troy, crouched among the 
marsh grass and tall weeds. An ugly 
night came on, with snow. Ice formed 
on the edges of our shields. The other 
soldiers had warm coats, but I had left 
mine in the camp, not thinking that I 
should need it. The night was bitter cold 
and growing colder. At last I nudged 
Odysseus, who was lying near. He lis- 
tened readily. 

“ ‘I have no coat,’ I murmured, ‘and 
this cold is killing me.’ Odysseus an- 
swered, ‘Be quiet for the present.’ He 
lay still a moment, then raised himself 
upon his elbow, saying, 

“ ‘Hark, friends, I have had a dream 
that warned me that we are far from 
camp. I wish someone would tell Aga- 
memnon that we need more men.’ A 
soldier sprang up quickly and went run- 
ning back to camp. I saw that he had 
left his cloak. I took it, and slept com- 


196 The Children’s Odyssey. 

fortably till the morning.” After a little 
pause, the beggar craftily added, “If I 
were only in my prime as I was then, 
someone would give me a cloak for the 
asking. As it is, they mock me for wear- 
ing rags.” 

The good-natured herdsman burst out 
laughing at the trick. But the story had 
pleased them, and they told the beggar 
that Telemachus would give him a cloak 
if he would ask for it. 

The night had come on black and 
rainy, and a strong west wind was blow- 
ing. Eumaeus made a bed beside the 
fire for the beggar, and threw upon it 
the skins of sheep and goats, and an 
extra covering because the night was cold. 
Then all the herdsmen lay down be- 
fore the fire and went to sleep, except 
the good swineherd, who put on his shag- 
gy coat of goatskin, took his spear, and 
went out to sleep near his hogs, and see 
that they were protected from the storm. 


Father and Son. 


197 


XXIX. Father and Son. 

Footsteps sounded without the swine- 
herd’s hut. Eumaeus and his beggar 
guest sat at their morning meal. The 
dogs sprang up and ran to the door, wag- 
ging their tails. 

“It is a friend, Eumaeus; see the dogs.” 
It was the beggar who spoke. The latch 
lifted, and Telemachus stood in the door- 
way. The swineherd, who was mixing wine 
and water, dropped the bowl in his surprise, 
and hastened to greet his dear young 
master. The old man kissed Telemachus 
and wept for joy to see him safely home 
again, for he loved the young man as a 
father loves his son. 

“Dear boy,” he cried, “light of my 
life, I thought the day you went away 
to Pylos that I should never see you 
again. Come in and let me be cheered 
by the sight of you. For you do not 


198 


The Children’s Odyssey. 

often come here, busy as you are with 
watching the crowd of suitors at the 
palace.” 

“I came to see you,” answered Telem- 
achus, “and to ask about my mother. 
Has she married yet?” 

“She still waits patiently at home,” 
said Eumaeus, “and the days and nights 
pass wearily as ever.” The disguised 
beggar now arose and silently offered his 
seat to the young prince. But he re- 
fused it, for he saw the man was old. 
The swineherd made him another seat of 
brushwood covered with fleece. So these 
three ate together, the young prince, the 
old swineherd, and the beggar-king. 

When the meal was done, Eumaeus 
bound his sandals on his feet, and started 
for the palace to tell Penelope that 
Telemachus was safely home. He asked 
Telemachus if he should not go and tell 
Laertes the good news, also, for since the 
young man had been gone, his grand- 


Father and Son. 


199 


father had hardly eaten or drunk, or gone 
to oversee his fields, but had sat at home 
grieving, and losing strength each day. 
Telemachus however, wished the swine- 
herd to return at once, and tell no one 
but Penelope that he had come. The 
queen might better send her maid secretly 
to tell Laertes. 

The swineherd had hardly left the hut 
when Odysseus, looking after him, saw 
without the door the stately form of the 
wise goddess. The dogs saw her, too, 
and slunk away across the courtyard, 
whining. But Telemachus did not see 
her, for the gods do not appear to 
everyone. She raised her brows in signal 
for Odysseus. He went outside the court- 
yard wall, and stood before her in the 
sunshine. She said to him, 

“Reveal yourself now to Telemachus, 
and go with him to the palace. I will be 
near you, for I am eager for the fray.” 
She touched him gently with her wand. 


200 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


He stood erect and drew a long, deep 
breath. His beggar’s garb slipped from 
him, and in its place he wore a mantle 
like a king’s. His face grew young and 
brown, his hair and beard were dark 
again. With a soldier’s bearing, he went 
back into the hut. 

Telemachus looked up in startled won- 
der. 

“Are you a god?” he cried. Odysseus 
bent over his son, and kissed him .on both 
cheeks. 

“I am your father, whom you love,” 
he said. The young prince started back 
and could not speak. Then finding words 
he cried out, 

“No, no, it cannot be! You are de- 
ceiving me.” 

“Have no fear,” said the king gently, 
“I am Odysseus, gone these twenty /ears, 
but home at last.” Telemachus threw 
his arms about his father’s neck and sob- 



The Greeting of Eumacus and Telemachus, 







Father and Son. 


201 


bed for joy. Even Odysseus wept, for it 
was as if the dead had come to life. 

Father and son sat down in the swine- 
herd’s hut and talked for many hours 
about Penelope, the war, and lastly of the 
hundred suitors and how they might de- 
stroy them. They suspected, — what was 
true,— that at that very moment the suit- 
ors, seeing in the harbor the ship that 
brought the young prince home, were 
saying: 

“Strange, how the gods help this man 
out of danger. We watched for the ship 
to capture it and slay him, but lo, here 
he is among us safe and sound. Let us 
lie in wait for him and slay him se- 
cretly on some dark night.” 

Meanwhile the swineherd was coming 
back along the road. But when he en- 
tered the hall, the king had disappeared, 
and only the wretched beggar sat talking 
with Telemachus before the fire. 


202 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


XXX. The Beggar at the Palace. 

Telemachus knew that his mother 
would not rest until she saw him with 
her own eyes. So he bound on his san- 
dals, and armed with his heavy spear, set 
out for the palace. His last words to Eu- 
maeus had been to take the beggar to 
the town and let him beg his living there. 

“Friend,” Odysseus had answered, 
playing his part skillfully, “the morning 
is chilly, and my clothes are miserably 
thin. ’Tis a long way to the town, they 
say. But I will go, when I have warmed 
me at the fire.” 

There was great rejoicing when Tel- 
emachus entered the palace. His old 
nurse saw him first, and ran to him with 
tears of joy, and all the other women 
of the house gathered about him and 
greeted him lovingly. His mother came 
and threw her arms about his neck, and 


The Beggar and the Palace. 203 

fondly kissed him on the face and both 
eyes, saying: 

“So you are here, my own dear son, 
light of my life. I said I should never 
see you again, when you sailed away 
secretly to Pylos, to find news of your 
father. Now tell me what you found.” - 

Telemachus answered: 

“Mother, I have just escaped from 
death. But do not ask me about it now, 
for I must go down to the market place 
and find a friend who came with us from 
Pylos. I sent him around into the har- 
bor with the ship, while I myself landed 
near the farm. Peiraeus is entertaining 
him for me. But mother, bathe and put 
on fresh garments, and go to the upper 
rooms, and pray to the gods to give us a 
way of vengeance.” 

So his mother went to do this, while 
Telemachus set out for the town. In the 
marketplace he met his friend together 
with Peiraeus. The latter was caring for 


204 The Children’s Odyssey. 

the gifts which Telemachus had received 
from Menelaus. He said, 

“Telemachus, have your servants come 
to my house, that I may send you the 
gifts of Menelaus.” But Telemachus re- 
plied: 

“Do not send them for the present. 
Wait until I have driven away the suit- 
ors. For they might destroy me and 
divide my property. And if they should, 
I would rather have you keep the gifts 
for yourself, than let the suitors get them.” 

They went together to the palace, and 
after bathing, they sat down and ate a 
meal, while the queen spun her fine yarn 
near by. When they had finished, she 
said, 

“Telemachus, I am going to my own 
room and to my bed, — where I have sor- 
rowed ever since Odysseus went away, — 
because you will not tell me before the 
the suitors come in, what you have learned 
about your father.” 


The Beggar and the Palace. 205 

Then Telemachus told her all that he 
had heard from Menelaus, — that Odysseus 
was a prisoner on Calypso’s island, and 
had no ship or crew to bring him home. 
The story stirred her very heart. The 
friend of Telemachus said — for he was a 
prophet, — 

“Wife of Odjrsseus, surely Menelaus 
did not know all of the truth. Listen to 
me, for I will prophesy: Odysseus is al- 
ready in his native land. He waits even 
now for the right time to come for him 
to punish these suitors. He knows their 
evil doing. On board the ship I saw the 
flight of a bird that told me this.” 

“Ah, stranger,” said the queen, “if only 
this prophecy of yours might prove to be 
true, I would give you such gifts that 
you would be rich indeed.” As she 
spoke, the suitors came into the hall to 
dinner, and put an end to their quiet talk. 

Meantime Odysseus and the swineherd 
had left the farm and were on their way 


206 The Children’s Odyssey. 

to the town. As they plodded along the 
stony road they came to a grove of pop- 
lar trees. Within the grove was a fountain 
built of stone, from which the Ithacans 
drew drinking water. At its top there 
was an altar where the people left their 
offerings to the nymphs of the fountain. 
Hard by the grove they met a goatherd 
following his goats. 

“Ho, you good-for-nothing pig-driver,” 
he cried, “you have found another fellow 
as dirty as yourself. Where are you tak- 
ing the beggar? If he comes near the 
palace he will have footstools flung at his 
head.” As they passed, he iaised his foot 
and kicked the begger. For a moment 
it seemed as if Odysseus would knock the 
fellow down. But instead, he only turned 
aside to hide his flashing eyes. For he 
was biding his time. So they went on to 
the palace. As they approached the gate, 
Odysseus took the swineherd by the hand 
and said: 


207 


The Beggar and the Palace. 

“Surely, Eumaeus, this must be the 
palace of the king. How strongly it is 
built! The gates are double, and there is 
a wall around the courtyard. And how 
many buildings there are, all joined to- 
gether! Hear the music, too. There is 
some feast going on.” 

“You are not slow to notice things,” 
answered the swineherd. “Go in first, if 
you will, or stay here and I will go first. 
But do not wait long by the gate, or some- 
one may throw stones at you and try to 
drive you off.” 

“I have no fear,” answered the beggar, 
“for I am used to blows. But do you go 
first. We will not let them know that we 
have come together.” 

At the sound of the beggar’s voice, the 
old dog, Argus, lying by the door, lifted 
his head, pricked up his ears, and wagged 
his tail. This dog had been a good one, 
of fine breed. Odysseus had often taken 
him upon hunting trips. But now that 


208 The Children’s Odyssey. 

the dog was old and useless, no one took 
any care of him. He did his best to wel- 
come his dear master, but he had not 
strength enough to get upon his feet. 
Odysseus stooped to stroke the head of 
the only friend that knew him, and the 
poor dog, striving to lick his master’s 
hand, stretched himself out then and there, 
and died of joy. There were tears in 
the beggar’s eyes as he leaned upon his 
staff, over the form of his faithful friend. 

The swineherd, having gone into the 
palace and found the suitors at breakfast, 
had taken a seat at the table of Telem- 
achus, upon the farther side. The beggar 
soon appeared. He seated . himself upon 
the threshold, just inside the door. Telem- 
achus, seeing him, took a loaf of bread 
from one of the baskets, and all the meat 
that his two hands could hold, and said 
to Eumaeus across the table, 

“Give this to the stranger, and tell him 
to ask more from all the suitors, for a 


Odysseus and His 










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209 


The Beggar and the Palace. 

beggar must be bold.” Eumaeus took 
tbe food and carried it to where the beggar 
sat, repeating the message of Telemachus. 

“Great Zeus,” prayed the beggar, in 
gratitude, “bless Telemachus, and let him 
gain whatever he desires.” Then, when 
the meal was over, he arose and began to 
pass his empty wallet to all the princes 
in turn. One dropped in a crust of bread, 
another a bit of meat. But Antinous gave 
only a scornful look, and spoke angrily 
to Eumaeus. For the goatherd had told 
him who had brought the beggar in. 

“Indeed,” said the beggar, “you are 
not as generous as you are good-looking.” 
Antinous reached beneath the table and 
drew out his footstool. 

“Stand off, you pest, you mar-feast,” 
he cried, and flinging the footstool, struck 
Odysseus a sharp blow on the shoulder. 
But he stood firm as a rock, and did not 
offer to strike back. He only glared from 
under his shaggy brows and nodded. 


210 The Children’s Odyssey. 

“A blow given in war,” he said, “carries 
no sting. But Antinous gave me a blow 
because I am poor and hungry. If the 
gods listen to beggars, may Antinous die 
before his wedding day!” 

The suitors trembled, fearing Antinous 
had struck some god in disguise. 

“He has cursed you!” they cried, “you 
are doomed, for the gods often come among 
men poorly dressed like this, to find out 
yrho are kind, and who treat strangers 
badly.” But Antinous only laughed. 

The beggar now sat down unmolested 
in the doorway, and spreading out his 
wallet on the floor, ate from it the scraps 
which the suitors had given him. 

But Penelope, among her maidens, 
heard that a stranger had been struck 
in the house. 

“May the gods strike down Antinous 
even so,” she said. “He is the worst of 
all our enemies. Eumaeus,” she called, 
“Go tell the stranger I wish to speak to 


The Beggar and the Palace. 211 

him. Perhaps he has heard tidings of 
Odysseus in his travels.” 

“He does say that he has news, and 
that Odysseus is not far away,” the swine- 
herd answered. 

“Go, call him,” the queen repeated, “I 
wish to meet him face to face. Oh, if only 
Odysseus might come home! What ven- 
geance he would take upon these men!” 
As she said this, she heard Telem- 
achus sneeze loudly, so that the great hall 
echoed. Penelope laughed, and said again, 
“Go, go, Eumaeus, call him. Did you 
not hear how my son sneezed, for a bless- 
ing on my wish? It will come true.” 

Eumaeus went to where the beggar 
sat and said, 

“Old man, the queen is calling for 
you. She will reward you if you tell the 
truth about Odysseus.” But the beggar 
said, 

“Wait till evening when these men 
are gone. I am afraid of them.” 


212 The Children’s Odyssey. 

“What, has he not come?” exclaimed 
the queen, when she heard the beggar’s 
answer. “Tell him a shy man makes a 
poor beggar. Still, it may be he is right.” 

So she waited with impatience for the 
end of the day to come. 


The Beggars’ Quarrel. 


213 


XXXI. The Beggars’ Quarrel. 


That day there came into the hall one 
of the common beggars of the town, a 
fat, greedy rascal, who went by the name 
of Irus, because he ran on errands for 
everyone. The name was given mock- 
ingly, for Iris, the messenger of the gods, 
was very beautiful, and Irus the beggar 
was as far as possible from being good to 
look upon, for he was clumsy, awkward 
and ill-favored. 

When Irus saw Odysseus sitting in 
the doorway, he was jealous. For a while 
he strutted back and forth, trying to 
attract the attention of his fellow-beggar, 
who took no notice of him. At last he 
stopped and said insultingly, 

“Take yourself away from here, old 
man, before I turn you out. Can you 
not see they are all winking at me to 


214 The Children’s Odyssey. 

drag you off by the leg? Get up, I tell 
you.” Odysseus did not move, but an- 
swered, “I am doing you no harm. 
This door will hold us both.” And as 
the beggar blustered and came nearer, he 
added quickly, “Do not anger me; or old 
as I am, I may be dangerous.” But 
Irus was eager for a fight. 

“Hear the boaster!” he cried, “I’ll do 
him an ugly turn; I’ll drive him out like 
a pig from the cornfield; I’ll knock out 
every tooth in his old head.” The suitors 
burst into a roar of laughter, left their 
seats, and gathered around the beggars, 
offering a prize of goats’ meat to the 
winner. Odysseus turned to them: 

“Promise to see fair fighting,” he said. 
They promised, and Odysseus stripped 
off his ragged clothes to the waist. As the 
suitors saw his broad chest and sinewy 
arms, a murmur of delight passed through 
the crowd. 

“Who would have thought the old man 


The Beggars’ Quarrel. 215 

had so much muscle on him? Irus will 
catch a plague of his own bringing.” 

Now Irus was a coward, and had already 
begun to repent his rashness. But An- 
tinous, who wished to see Odysseus beaten, 
whispered savagely in the beggar’s ear, 

“If you let him whip you, I will send 
you off in a black ship to the Bad King, 
and he will cut off your nose and ears, 
and give them to the dogs to eat.” 

But this only frightened Irus the 
more, so that he trembled in every limb. 
Indeed, he would have been very glad 
to escape from the encounter, but the 
servants pushed him on, and he could not 
get away from them. 

'Both the beggars stood up and raised 
their fists to strike. Odysseus wondered 
whether he should kill the beggar then 
and there or merely knock him down to 
teach him a lesson. 

“If I show my strength,” he thought, 
“the Greeks may recognize me.” 


216 The Children’s Odyssey. 

Irus struck out first, aiming an uncer- 
tain blow at his opponent’s sturdy shoul- 
der. As quick as lightning came the 
stroke of Odysseus, and finding Irus’ neck 
below the ear, felled him like an ox. 
Down in the dust he lay, and moaned 
with pain. The suitors threw up their 
hands and shouted with loud laughter. 
But Odysseus silently bent over the beg- 
gar, caught him by the foot, dragged him 
out of the house into the courtyard, and 
set him up against the wall. Thrusting a 
staff into his hand, Odysseus said: 

“Sit there awhile, and scare away the 
dogs and swine.” And putting on his 
clothes again, he sat down calmly in his 
old place by the door. The suitors heaped 
his food beside him, — the prize of goat’s 
meat he had won. Amphinomus handed 
him a cup of wine with a kindly word. 
The father of this young man Odysseus 
had known well. 

“Amphinomus,” he said, “your father 


The Beggars' Quarrel. 


217 


was a good man, and you are like him. 
Therefore, listen to what I say. Men 
are as weak creatures as any upon 
earth. And yet, when all goes well with 
them they think that they are strong, and 
that evil days can never come to them. 
So they grow bold and do wrong things, 
thinking that they never will be punished. 
So I did; among men I was prosperous 
once. So these men are doing, worrying 
the wife of Odysseus and wasting his pos- 
sessions. But the life of men is in the 
hands of the gods. Therefore, let no man 
do wrong. Odysseus surely will come 
home to his own. May you not be here 
to meet him, for bloody will be the meet- 
ing and bloody the parting, between him 
and these heedless suitors.” As he drank 
the wine and handed back the cup to 
young Amphinomus, he looked into the 
young man’s face. The latter made no 
answer, but only walked down the 
hall shaking his head. He could not put 


218 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


faith in the words of the old begger, and 
yet he felt in some way that they were 
true. 


Penelope Among the Suitors. 


219 


XXXII. Penelope Among the Suitors. 


Penelope said to the nurse: 

“I have a mind to go among the suit- 
ors, — although I hate them. I have some- 
thing to say to my son. He must not be 
spoiled by living only with such men as 
they are.” 

“Bathe your face first, my dear child,” 
said the old nurse, “They must not see 
it stained with tears.” 

“Oh, do not talk so to me,” said Pe- 
nelope, “for I have had no beauty since 
Odysseus went away. But send two of 
the maids here, for I do not wish to go 
alone.” While she was waiting for the 
maids to come, she fell into a light sleep. 
And as they came in and she awoke 
again, she seemed more beautiful than 
before. But she was no happier, for she 
sighed, as she rubbed her fair cheeks 
with her hands, “Oh, how I wish that 


220 The Children’s Odyssey. 

I might die as easily as I slept, and so 
no longer waste my life in sorrow.” 

She arose and went with her maids, 
and stood in the doorway of the great hall, 
holding her veil a little before her face. 

“Telemachus,” she said, “What is this 
that I hear? You have allowed a guest 
to be ill-treated in this house? I should 
be disgraced if he had come to harm.” 

“Mother, I do not wonder that you are 
angry at such actions,” said Telemachus, 
“I could not help it,— the beggars had a 
fight. But it did not happen as the suit- 
ors wished. The stranger proved to be 
the better man. I only wish the suitors 
might be beaten as badly as old Irus was. 
He cannot stand upon his feet even yet, 
but sits there wagging his head like a 
drunken man.” 

As the mother and son talked together 
in low tones, the suitors gazed at Penel- 
ope with pleasure, for she seldom came 
among them. One of them said boldly, 


Penelope Among the Suitors. 221 

“Penelope, if all the Greeks should see 
you, you would have more suitors here 
than ever.” 

“Eurymachus,” she answered, “What- 
ever beauty I once had forsook me when 
my husband went away. It is true, he 
told me to marry again if my son should 
grow to manhood and he should not come 
home. And so I suppose I must. But 
alas, my suitors are not such as suitors 
used to be. For they always used to 
bring gifts for a bride, instead of destroy- 
ing her property without paying for it.” 

“Penelope,” said Antinous, speaking 
for them all, “if any of us bring you 
gifts, accept them, for it is not gracious 
to refuse. But we will never go away 
until you have chosen the best man of 
us to be your husband.” The others all 
agreed, and sent their servants back to 
their homes to bring gifts for Penelope.' 
One brought her an embroidered robe 
with twelve gold clasps upon it; another 


222 The Children’s Odyssey. 

a curious gold chain with amber beads; 
another a pair of ear-rings with drops; 
and still another a fine jeweled necklace. 
Each one brought her something beauti- 
ful. And then the suitors turned to danc- 
ing, and the queen went up to her own 
rooms, while the maids followed her, car- 
rying the gifts. The beggar sitting in the 
doorway grimly smiled to see her win- 
ning gifts from the suitors by her clever 
speech. 


The Scar of the Boar's Tusk. 


223 


XXXIII. The Scar of the Boar’s Tusk. 


The maids were lighting - torches about 
the hall, for it was growing dark. The 
beggar went to them and said, 

“Maids, let me do that, so that you 
may go up to the women’s room and cheer 
your mistress as you work beside her.” 

The maids looked at each other and 
began to laugh. 

“Beggar, you must be silly with wine,” 
said one, “or else your victory over Irus 
has gone to your head. You are talking 
all the time. But look out, a better man 
than Irus may come presently and punish 
you.” But Odysseus rebuked her so 
sternly that she was afraid, and ran 
away, and her companion after her. 

Odysseus took his stand by the torches, 
to attend to the lights. And as he stood 
he watched the suitors, planning how he 
should outwit them. They began to jeer 


224 The Children's Odyssey. 

at the old beggar. Eurymachus said 
laughing, 

“Fellows, this beggar must have been 
sent us by some god, for his bald head 
shines with an unearthly light. Beggar,” 
he continued, “will you come and hire 
out on my farm, or are you so lazy that 
you will do no work?” 

“I should be pleased to show you that 
I can work, and fight too,” answered 
Odysseus, “so that you would no longer 
jeer at me for begging food and drink. 
Prince, you think you are a mighty man; 
but I tell you that if Odysseus should 
come home again, those doors, wide as 
they are, would be too narrow for you 
to be crowding through, to get away.” 
At this Eurymachus grew very angry. 

“Wretch!” he cried, “Are you beside 
yourself with joy because you won the 
fight and beat the other beggar, or ' are 
you always chattering like this? I’ll pun- 
ish you,” and he caught up a footstool. 


The Scar of the Boar’s Tusk. 225 

But Odysseus crouched beside Amphino- 
mus, and the footstool struck the wine- 
pourer, who fell, spilling - the wine. The 
suitors clamored angrily, saying one to 
another, 

“Would that this vagabond had died 
before he ever came in here, and made 
us all this trouble! We have no more 
good times at all, because we must be 
always quarreling about him.” But now 
Telemachus spoke: 

“Princes, it is very plain that you have 
had enough to eat and drink. You may 
go home as early as you please, — though 
do not let me seem to drive anyone away.” 
They looked at one another, their teeth 
set on their lips, in amazement at his bold- 
ness. Amphinomus said, pleasantly enough, 

“Friends, let us not be angry any more. 
We will leave the beggar to Telemachus, 
for he is the master of the house. If the 
wine-pourer will prepare our evening 
drink, we will go home.” So after they 


226 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


had poured out the drink-offering to the 
gods, and they themselves had drunk, 
they went to their own homes, earlier 
than they usually did. 

In the well-worn rack beside a pillar 
stood the spears which Odysseus had car- 
ried before he went to Troy. And many 
shields and suits of armor hung around 
the walls. 

“Telemachus,” said Odysseus, “This 
fighting gear must all be put away.” 

“The suitors will miss it,” said Telem- 
achus: “They will ask what has been 
done with it.” 

“Tell them you have taken it to be 
polished,” said his father, “or tell them 
that you wish to keep them from injuring 
one another, for spears tempt men to 
fight.” So Telemachus said to the old 
nurse, 

“Nurse, go and keep the women in 
their rooms while I take down this armor, 
and put it where it will not get so tarn- 


The Scar of the Boar’s Tusk. 227 

ished by the smoke.” The nurse was 
pleased. 

“I wish you always were so careful 
about the house and all its treasures,” she 
said, “but who will hold the light for you 
if you send away all the women?” 

“This beggar will,” he answered. “He 
has eaten my bread, and he shall pay for 
it.” 

The old nurse went and closed the 
door into that part of the house where the 
women had their” rooms. Odysseus and 
Telemachus began to carry out the armor. 
As they were working, the half-dark- 
ened rooms seemed to grow light, so 
that they could see to go about as clearly 
as by day. 

“Father,” exclaimed Telemachus, “see 
how the walls shine. Surely a god is in 
this house. The whole room glows as from 
a blazing fire.” 

“Hush, do not question it,” said wise 
Odysseus. “It is so. But go to bed; the 


228 The Children’s. Odyssey. 

task is done. I will stay here, to see your 
mother.” He felt the presence of the god- 
dess who was helping them, although he 
did not see her. 

Telemachus took a torch in his hand 
and went to bed. Odysseus sat down by 
the fire, a stranger at his own hearth still. 
The place was quiet at last. The glowing 
embers crackled and fell apart, making 
strange, bright pictures. But Odysseus 
did not see them. He was busy thinking 
and planning, for he knew that he was in 
danger of discovery. Some time had 
passed when he was aroused by women’s 
voices in the hall. He heard a gentle step 
that he knew well. The door opened and 
Penelope entered, — his wife, whom he had 
not dared to see. 

She walked slowly to a fleece-covered 
chair by the fire, and sat down, drawing 
her robe around her, for outside it was a 
windy night. The maids came in to clear 
away the suitors’ tables, and the fragments 


. The Scar of the Boar’s Tusk. 229 

of food which had been left. They took 
the torches, nearly burned out now, and 
put them on the hearth, and piled fresh 
logs above them, to give both light and 
warmth. At sight of the pale beggar in the 
shadow, with his eyes fixed on the floor, 
they began to scold him for staying 
there so late. But Penelope rebuked 
them, saying, 

“Did you not hear me say that I wished 
to talk with the stranger to-night? Bring a 
seat for him.’’ Then turning to the beggar, 

“Where do you come from? Tell me 
your name.” 

Odysseus could hardly bring himself to 
speak. At last, his eyes still on the floor, 
he said, 

“Lady, do not ask me. I — I cannot tell 
you. It is a long, sad story.” But the 
lovely lady said, 

“Mine is a sad story, too, so I can pity 
you. For my dear husband has been gone 
these twenty years, and soon I shall have 


230 The Children’s Odyssey. 

to marry one of the suitors, for they will 
not give me any peace until I do, alas!” 
and as she spoke, the tears dropped down 
her sweet pale face. 

The beggar turned aside as if the sight 
of her weeping were more than he could 
bear. But soon she dried her tears and 
said very gently, 

“Will you not consent to tell me your 
story ? Perhaps you have known my 
husband.” 

It was too soon to tell her all, how- 
ever much he longed to do so. So he 
told her what he had told the swineherd, 
that he had fought with Odysseus in the 
war and had known him well. At every 
mention of the hero’s name the lady wept. 
And yet it seemed as if she could not 
hear enough about him. 

“Tell me, what clothing did he wear?” 
she asked, thinking to find out by this 
question whether he had really seen 
Odysseus. 


231 


The Scar of the Boar’s Tusk. 

“It is twenty years ago,” said he, “and 
I may not remember all, but I do remem- 
ber that he wore a white, smooth-fitting 
tunic, and a thick, purple cloak which was 
folded double. It was fastened with a 
golden brooch. I remember the brooch 
well, for every one admired it. It was 
carved into the shape of a hound, holding 
a fawn between its forepaws, and gazing 
fiercely at it as it struggled to escape. 
He had a herald with him, a man a little 
older than himself, round-shouldered, dark, 
and curly-haired.” 

At this the queen’s tears flowed again. 
She knew that the man was speaking 
the truth, for she had woven the gar- 
ments he described, and she herself had 
given Odysseus the golden brooch with 
the dog and fawn upon it. She wept 
until the beggar said, 

“Wife of Odysseus, weep no more for 
him, for I will tell you that he is coming 
home. He is safe now, and he will not 


232 The Children’s Odyssey. 

be long. Before the year is over he will 
come.” 

Penelope could not believe it. 

“Ah, stranger,” she cried, “would that 
it might be so!” Then drawing a long 
sigh she said, 

“From this time forth you shall be 
loved and cared for in this house. You 
were my husband’s friend and faithful 
comrade. It brings me happiness to talk 
with you.” 

She called her maids and bade them 
prepare a bed for the stranger. The old 
nurse came with a basin of water to bathe 
his way-worn feet. 

“I do this for Odysseus’ sake,” she 
said, “for of all the strangers who ever 
came into this house, you are the most 
like him.” 

“Yes,” replied the beggar, “those who 
have seen us both say that we are alike.” 

Suddenly he turned away from the 
firelight. He had forgotten the scar of a 


The Scar of the Boar’s Tusk. 233 

wild boar’s tusk which he had borne on 
his knee since boyhood. But he was too 
late. The nurse’s hand had found the 
the scar. She dropped his foot, upsetting 
the basin of water on the floor. She put 
her hand beneath his chin, and gazed into 
his face. 

“Odysseus, Odysseus,” she cried, chok- 
ing with her tears. “To think that I 
failed to know you!” Odysseus saw her 
turn toward the queen. He caught her 
arm. 

“Hush,” he whispered, “Not a word to 
her. It is too soon.” The good nurse 
answered, 

“Not a word then. I can keep the 
secret.” 

And at the other end of the great hall, 
Penelope sat before the fire, dreaming of 
Odysseus, and praying to the gods for his 
return. 


234 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


XXXIV. The Trial of the Bow. 

Odysseus stood by the courtyard gate 
in the chill, early morning, listening to 
the sounds of awakening within the palace. 
He had passed a restless night on his bed 
of skins in the covered porch. Once he 
had heard the silence of the sleeping 
household broken by a woman’s sob, and 
his wife’s sad voice sighed out, “Odysseus, 
Oh, Odysseus ! ” Then all had been still 
again. 

Odysseus knew that for every hour 
that he stayed in the palace he risked his 
life. There were many of the suitors who 
would not hesitate to kill a troublesome 
old beggar if the notion seized them. 
And yet to throw aside the disguise and 
boldly say, “I am Odysseus,” would be 
utter folly. At the very least he would 
be beaten for an imposter, and the dogs 
would be set upon him. Yet in spite of all, 


235 


The Trial of the Bow. 

there was hope in his heart as he stood 
with uplifted hands and made his morning 
prayer to Father Zeus. 

“O Father Zeus, if thou hast led me 
over wet and dry to my own country, to 
be merciful to me, then let me know it 
by some sign.” A peal of thunder rum- 
bled in the hills. Odysseus rejoiced to 
hear it, for he thought it was in answer 
to his prayer. 

There was a room within the palace 
where twelve women stood all day before 
the hand mills, turning the stones that 
ground the wheat and barley into meal 
for bread. One of these women was weak 
and could not finish her task as early as 
the others. She had been grinding all 
night long. When the thunder pealed, 
she stopped her weary grinding for a 
moment as she sighed, 

“O Father Zeus, I am worn out with 
cruel toil, grinding the barley for this 
crowd of suitors. Grant that they may eat 


236 The Children’s Odyssey. 

their last meal in this house today.” And 
Odysseus standing outside, as he heard 
her word, rejoiced again, for he hoped 
that Zeus would answer this prayer also. 

The maids were stirring now. Odysseus 
heard the housekeeper’s sharp voice bid- 
ding them make haste, kindle a fire, sweep 
the house and sprinkle it, sponge off the 
tables, and wash the bowls and cups; for 
the suitors would soon be coming to their 
breakfast. She appeared in the door her- 
self, with her arms full of purple cushions, 
which she set down in the porch and beat 
with a willow broom. 

Twenty strong-armed maids went out 
to the well, carrying their water-jars upon 
their heads. Down the street came the 
woodcutters, ready to split wood for the 
fires. After them Eumaeus drove his fat, 
unruly hogs, to be killed for the day’s 
feasting. He turned them loose in the 
courtyard and stopped to speak to the 
beggar. 


The Trial of the Bow. 


237 


“How goes it with you now?” he asked 
kindly. “Do the suitors treat you badly 
still?” 

“Yes, but the gods will punish them,”' 
answered Odysseus. 

The goatherd, whom they had met the 
day before on the road from the farm, drove 
in his goats and tethered them in the court- 
yard, saying as he passed the beggar, 

“What! Are you still here? I see that 
I shall have to give you a taste of my hsts.” 

Odysseus did not look at him, but only 
shook his head. Another kind of greeting 
came from the keeper of the cattle. As he 
led in a heifer to be slaughtered for the 
suitors, he held out his hand to the beggar. 

“Stranger, I wish you better luck than 
you are having now,” he said. “When I 
first saw you, a sweat broke out on me and 
my eyes filled with tears, for I thought, 
perhaps our lost Odysseus is forced to go 
like you, begging his way from house to 
house.” 


238 The Children’s Odyssey. 

Odysseus saw that he could trust this 
man. In a low voice he answered, 

“Odysseus will return and you shall 
see him standing in this very place; I 
swear it.” 

“Ah, stranger,” said the herdsman, “I 
wish it might be so.” 

The suitors were gathering in the palace. 
As each one came in he dropped his cloak 
upon the chair or bench which happened 
to be nearest, and went out again into the 
courtyard to join in the killing of the 
sheep, the goats, the hogs, and the heifer. 
When they had done the butchering, they 
began to roast the parts over the fires 
for their morning meal. Eumaeus and the 
other herdsmen helped them. When the 
meal was read}", they seated themselves at 
the tables and the servants waited upon 
them. Near the door of the hall, Odysseus 
sat upon a common bench before a little 
table by himself. Telemachus sent him a 


The Trial of the Bow. 


239 


portion of meat and wine, as much as any 
of the others had. 

“There, sit comfortably and eat your 
meal,” he said, raising his voice that the 
suitors all might hear. “I will see that 
nobody dare trouble you.” 

The suitors looked at one another and 
bit their lips. They did not understand 
the young prince’s boldness. But An- 
tinous was not to be kept still. 

“It is right enough that the beggar 
should have something to eat,” he said. 
“Here is a little extra for him, because he is 
a stranger.” And he took up an ox’s hoof 
and flung it at the beggar’s head. Odys- 
seus turned a little aside and avoided the 
blow, smiling grimly as the ox-hoof struck 
the wall. Telemachus sprang to his feet. 

“It is well for you that you did not hit 
the stranger,” he cried hotly. “If you had, 
you would have felt my spear between 
your ribs. Let no man insult me in my 
own house, nor those whom I protect.” 


240 The Children’s Odyssey. 

They looked at him in open-mouthed 
astonishment, then broke into mad laughter, 
rocking in their seats. Secure because 
they were many, they despised the threats 
of the young prince. But the friend of 
Telemachus, who had come back with him 
from Pylos, solemnly arose, pointing his 
finger at each one of the suitors in turn. 

“Ah, wretched men!” he cried, for he 
was a prophet, “I see you weltering in 
your blood. I hear your voices wailing in 
the dark. An evil mist wraps round you. 
Your death is near at hand. The court- 
yard and the porch are full of ghosts, and 
look! The very walls drip blood!” 

Again the suitors laughed, and one of 
them said: 

“Telemachus, your guests are queer 
ones for a king’s son. First you entertain 
that filthy vagabond, and now this fellow 
must stand up and play the prophet with 
his doleful speeches. Better pack them off 


241 


The Trial of the Bow. 

in a slave-ship to Sicily, where they would 
fetch their price.” 

Telemachus made no answer, but kept 
his eyes fixed upon his father, waiting for 
a sign. 

In the time before Odysseus went away 
to war, a friend had given him a splendid 
bow. Odysseus prized this bow so highly 
that he had not taken it with him, but left 
it for safe keeping in the house. Now it hap- 
pened on this day that Penelope had gone 
up the long stairway to the far-off treasure 
chamber of the house. She had unlocked 
the door with her great, crooked key, had 
taken down the bow from the peg on which 
it hung, and opened the shining case that 
held it. Then she sat down and as it lay 
upon her knees, she gazed at it a long, long 
time and wept for Odysseus. But at last she 
arose, with the bow in her hand, and a quiver 
full of arrows, and went down stairs again. 

While the suitors and Telemachus were 
talking, the queen stood by the door-post 


242 The Children's Odyssey. 

with one of her maidens on each side of 
her, waiting for a quiet moment. Now she 
entered, holding her veil before her face to 
hide the traces of her tears. She carried 
the great bow and the quiver of arrows. 
At sight of her the suitors ceased their 
wrangling. She spoke modestly: 

“Princes, I offer you the great bow of 
Odysseus. Let each one make a trial with 
it. I promise to be the wife of him who 
can shoot an arrow through twelve axe- 
heads set up in a row. I will go away with 
such a one, and leave this house I love so 
well. But I shall remember it, even in my 
dreams.” • 

Eumaeus the swineherd took the bow 
and arrows from her hand, as she bade him, 
and laid them down before the suitors. 
Tears stood in his eyes at sight of his loved 
master’s weapons. But Telemachus sprang 
up with joy, unbuckling his sword and 
dropping his scarlet cloak upon the ground. 
“Come princes,” he cried, “the prize is 


The Trial of the Bow. 243 

worthy of a trial.” He dug a trench for 
the axes in the courtyard, set them up in 
a row and stamped the earth firmly down 
around them. The suitors wondered to see 
how skillfully he did it. The winner’s 
arrow must go straight through the twelve 
round holes for .the handles. 

“I will try first,” said he, “for if I have 
the strength to use my father’s weapons, 
then my mother may safely leave the 
palace in my keeping.” Taking the pol- 
ished bow in his hands, he braced himself 
and tried to string it. The bow trembled 
in his grasp, but did not bend. He rested 
a moment, then tried again with the same 
result. The third time he made a mighty 
effort, and he might have bent the bow, but 
Odysseus frowned and shook his head. 
Telemachus put the bow down laughing. 

“Perhaps I am too young,” he said. 
“You mightier men than I, come, try your 
strength.” One of them came and tried, 


244 The Children’s Odyssey. 

but the string cut his soft hands. He set 
the bow against the wall. 

“I cannot bend it,” he said. “I think 
this bow will take the lives of many chiefs. 
But may the right man win!” Antinous 
was angry at this speech. 

“These are strange words,” he cried. 
“As if the bow must bring us death be- 
cause you cannot bend it! Light a fire,” 
he called to the servants. “We will heat 
the bow and soften it with greaSe.” So 
the goatherd kindled a fire, and brought 
a cake of fat which lay inside the door. 

While they were rubbing on the fat, 
Odysseus arose and went out into the 
courtyard where Fumaeus and the other 
herdsmen had gone a moment before. 

“Friends,” he called after them. They 
turned about. “What manner of men 
would ye be to aid Odysseus if he should 
suddenly return? Would you take sides 
with the suitors or with him?” 


The Trial of the Bote. 


245 


“With him,” they cried, “if he would 
only come!” 

Odysseus stood before them with his 
hands outspread. 

“Behold, I have come,” he said. “I am 
Odysseus.” They started, and gazed upon 
him. “And that you may believe me, 
here is proof.” He drew aside his beggar’s 
rags and showed them the deep scar of 
the boar’s tusk in his leg. The herdsmen 
looked at it, then threw their arms about 
him, weeping for joy. But Odysseus 
quickly stopped them. 

“Now, do not weep,” he said, “but go 
back into the house. Eumaeus, look after 
the women. Have them all go to their 
own rooms. And bring the bow to 
me. And do you,” he said to the cow- 
herd, “bolt and bar the outer gate of the 
courtyard.” 

Odysseus went back to the palace. One 
of the suitors was handling the bow, warm- 
ing it on this side and on that before the 


246 The Children’s Odyssey. 

fire, and from time to time making an 
effort to bend it and put the cord around 
the tip. But the stout old bow resisted all 
his efforts. With a groan he cried out, 

“What a shame that we are all so far. 
behind Odysseus!” 

“It is not so,” said Antinous. “The 
gods will not let us bend the bow today 
because it is Apollo’s feast day. We will 
make sacrifices to Apollo that he may let 
us bend the bow. Lay it aside until to- 
morrow.” 

The suitors, nothing loth, hung the bow 
upon the wall and began to occupy them- 
selves with other things. Odysseus looked 
up at the bow where it was hanging. 

“Antinous,” he began, “it is wise of 
you to leave the trial till tomorrow, when 
the god will give the victory. But now, 

I have to ask a favor of you. Will you 
not please let me make a trial with the 
bow, that I may see if age has robbed me 


247 


The Trial of the Bow. 

of my strength ? ” At this the suitors 
all were furious. 

“You senseless beggar!” cried Antinous, 
“Is it not enough that you are allowed to 
eat with noble men, and listen to all they 
say, but you must also join them in this 
trial ? The wine has got into your brain 
and crazed you. Touch the bow, and you 
will wish you had not!” 

Penelope then spoke: 

“Antinous, you do not think the 
stranger would expect to win me for his 
wife, if he should bend the great bow of 
Odysseus, do you? For that could not be.” 

“No, lady,” said Antinous, “we are not 
fearing that. Of course it could not be, 
that he should marry you. But if he 
should bend the bow, some Greek would 
say that the chiefs who were woo- 
ing the wife of Odysseus could not 
even bend his bow, and that a beggar 
came and bent it. And that would be 
putting us all to shame.” 


248 The Children’s Odyssey. 

“Why should you be ashamed of this,” 
said the queen, “when you are not 
ashamed to rob the household of your king? 
Give the stranger the bow, and let us see 
what he can do. If he succeeds, I will let 
him have new garments, and a sword and 
spear, and send him upon his way.” 

Now Telemachus was anxious that his 
mother should not see the beggar try the 
bow. 

“My mother,” he said, “let me decide 
this matter. For I have the right to give 
or to refuse the bow to anyone I choose. 
No one in Ithaca can say me nay. Then 
go to your own duties in the house, and 
keep your women busy at their looms.” 

Penelope found wisdom in these words, 
and so she went away to her own room. 

There she sat weeping for Odysseus, 
until she grew so weary that she fell asleep. 

Meanwhile Eumaeus had taken the bow 
in his hands and started toward Odysseus 
with it. But the suitors gathered around 


249 


The Trial of the Bow. 

him with such threatening words that he 
dropped it upon the floor. 

“Swineherd,” said Telemachus sternly, 
“how many masters do you serve? Go on 
with it, or I will drive you out of the house. 
I wish that I could drive some others away 
as easily.” The suitors laughed at this. 
Eumaeus laid the bow in the hand of 
Odysseus. The others watched him, and 
remarked to one another: 

“Really, the beggar has a shrewd eye 
for a bow. See how skillfully he handles 
it, as if he had one like it at home, or were 
taking the measure to make one.” 

And as they looked, Odysseus, easily as 
a minstrel stretches a new string on his 
lyre, bent the stout bow and slipped the 
cord around its ivory tip. He twanged 
the bowstring. It hummed loud and clear. 
Then suddenly there came a peal of thun- 
der. The suitors looked at one another, 
and their faces turned first red, then pale. 
Odysseus caught up an arrow, laid it on 


250 The Children’s Odyssey. 

the bow, and taking quick, sure aim, shot 
it straight through all the twelve axe- 
handles, from first to last. Out from the 
farthest ring it flew. 

“Telemachus,” he said, “your guest 
has not quite shamed you, after all. I still 
have strength, although the suitors have 
despised me. But it is supper time, and 
we must give the guests a feast with 
music and with dancing.” He nodded 
to Telemachus, and at the sign, the 
young man buckled on his sword, took up 
his spear and shield, and stood full-armed 
and ready. 

Odysseus stripped off his rags and 
sprang to the doorway, bow in hand. He 
poured out all the arrows from the quiver 
and dropped them at his feet. His voice 
rang like a trumpet: 

“Now is the trial ended! And now 
these arrows find another mark.” He 
drew the bow again. Antinous had paused 
with a goblet halfway to his lips. The 


The Trial of the Bow. 251 

arrow struck him full in the throat. The 
goblet crashed on the floor, and he fell 
backward, mortally wounded. The suitors 
sprang up from their seats. 

“Shame on you, beggar! you have killed 
him,” they cried, thinking Odysseus did it 
carelessly. 

“Dogs!” cried Odysseus, “You have 
been saying to yourselves that I would never 
more come home; and so ye did me evil in 
my house; but now my hour has come, and 
you shall die!” He began to shoot the 
arrows one after another. Each one found 
the heart of a prince. The suitors leaped 
to the walls, but not a spear or shield was 
to be found there. They were caught in a 
trap. Eurymachus, the bravest, began to 
parley, to gain time: 

“If it is true that you are Odysseus, we 
cannot blame your wrath. But Antinous, 
who brought us here, is dead. The rest ol 
us will repay you many times for all that 
we have used of yours,”— 


252 


The Children’s Odyssey. 

“Never!” Odysseus answered, “Not if 
you gave me all you have. Fight me or run.” 

“Draw your blades, brothers!” shouted 
Kurymachus. “Turn up those tables for 
shields, and make a rush for the door. We 
are too many for him yet.” And drawing 
his sword, he sprang at Odysseus with a 
terrible cry. Instantly an arrow pierced 
his breast and he fell back dying. One 
after another the princes met the same fate. 
It was a fearful sight. 

But Odysseus had not many arrows 
left. Seeing this, Telemachus ran to the 
store room and brought back shields and 
spears for himself and his father and the 
two herdsmen. But now the tide began to 
turn in spite of him. The goatherd had 
stood at a distance looking on. He espied a 
small door in the wall, stole to it unnoticed 
and went out. He soon returned laden 
with spears. The suitors snatched them 
from his willing hands and began to hurl 
them at Odysseus. 


253 


The Trial of the Bow. 

“All is lost,” thought Telemachus, fight- 
ing bravely to protect his father. 

“Who has done this?” Odysseus cried, 
“Was it the women, or the goatherd?” 

“I left the door to the storeroom open, 
and he found it,” answered Telemachus. 

“Catch that fellow and hang him,” 
said Odysseus to the herdsmen. They 
went and lay in wait for the man, and as 
he came out of the storeroom laden with 
more spears, they caught him and bound 
him fast with ropes, and left him hanging 
to a pillar, telling him grimly that he 
might guard the arms. Then they 
came back to Odysseus, and the four 
of them, standing by the doorway, fought 
desperately against the crowd of suit- 
ors in the hall. So outnumbered, they 
might not have held out long, but sud- 
denly a tall form stood beside them. 

“Mentor!” called Telemachus. But 
Odysseus knew the wise goddess herself, 
in spite of her disguise. He heard her 


254 The Children’s Odyssey. 

say: “Odysseus, I am here,” and his 
strength suddenly equalled that of twenty 
men. His enemies fell helplessly before 
him. Their spears instead of wounding 
him, struck the door, the walls and the 
pillars. Their arms grew weak with fear. 
They begged for mercy, but there was no 
mercy. One he wounded in the neck, 
another in the side, and every time he 
sent a spear, one of the suitors fell. Up 
and down the hall Odysseus and his three 
friends followed them, and there were 
moans and groans until the last one bit 
the dust. Then he stopped and gazed 
around. The wicked suitors lay heaped one 
upon another like fish caught in the net 
Odysseus leaned upon his spear, too weary 
to be glad. 

“The gods and their own deeds de- 
stroyed them,” he said solemnly. 


The Queen's Welcome. 


255 


XXXV. The Queen’s Welcome. 

When the hall had been cleansed from 
the dreadful slaughter of the princes, and 
sulphur had been burned throughout the 
house, Odysseus called his servants to him. 
They hailed their master with delight, and 
crowded around him, eager to touch his 
hand. But there was one person who had 
not yet given the king a welcome. The 
old nurse had run joyfully to tell the good 
news to the queen. But Penelope would 
not let herself believe it. Sadly she said, 
as she lay on her couch, — for she had 
slept through all the tumult: 

“Good nurse, it cannot be. The gods 
have crazed you. Why have you wakened 
me from a sound sleep with such a tale? 
If any other of the maids had wakened 
me to tell me this, I would have had her 
punished.” But still the nurse insisted, 


256 The Children’s Odyssey. 

“Believe me, dear lady, he is here. 
He is the stranger who came yesterday. 
Telemachus has known it all the time.” 

The queen sprang from her bed weep- 
ing and clasped the old nurse in her 
arms. 

“Oh, nurse,” she cried, “If he has 
really come, — but I do not believe he has, 
— how could he drive the suitors off, he 
alone, and they so many?” 

“I do not know,” answered the nurse 
“I did not see. We sat in our own inner 
room behind closed doors, and trembled, 
for we heard the groans of dying men. 
At last Telemachus came there and called 
us out. His father had sent him. We 
went and there we saw Odysseus stand- 
ing, like a lion, over the bodies of the 
slain. He had killed the wicked suitors, 
every one of them.” And the old nurse 
laughed aloud. 

“Oh, how can you laugh? ”j Penelope 
cried in great distress, “It was not Odys- 


257 


The Queen's Welcome. 

seus, but some god who killed the suitors, 
in anger at their wicked deeds. Odysseus 
long ago lost hope of coming home. And 
he himself is lost.” But she was trem- 
bling as she went from her chamber to 
the hall, and sat down opposite Odysseus 
in the firelight, silent and amazed. She 
gazed with a long, anxious look, now upon 
his face, again upon the ragged clothes he 
wore. 

Now, when Odysseus saw this, he 
arose smiling and went into another room. 
There he bathed and put off his old dis- 
guise. Clad at last as a king should be, 
he came back and sat down in the fire- 
light beside the farther wall. He did not 
speak to her but waited, looking down. 
Still she gazed at him with wide eyes and 
said nothing. 

“Mother,” exclaimed Telemachus in 
wonder, “why do you not go to him?” 

“My child,” she said in a low voice, “I 
am dazed with the wonder of all this. I 


258 The Children’s Odyssey. 

cannot speak to him nor look him in the 
face nor ask a question of him. But if 
this really be Odysseus, I shall know it, for 
he and I together have a secret token.” 

Odysseus could keep silent no longer. 

‘‘My wife,” he said sadly, “the gods 
have made your heart as hard as stone. 
Come, nurse, make me a bed in the open 
court, that I may sleep like a stranger in 
my own house, since my own wife will 
not welcome me.” 

“Nay, I am not hard-hearted,” an- 
swered she, “however, sleep in the open 
court if you will. Nurse, move his mas- 
sive bed out there. Throw plenty of 
fleeces upon it.” 

“Woman,” exclaimed Odysseus angrily, 
“these are strange words from you! Move 
my bed from its place? Indeed, that 
would be a hard task for anyone, unless 
he were a god, for I built it, and the 
room in which it stands, around a grow- 
ing olive tree. I smoothed the tree trunk 


The Queen's Welcome. 259 

into shape, and made it one of four bed- 
posts. I myself inlaid the frame with 
gold and silver and with ivory. No one 
can move it. You and I alone know 
this is true.” 

He arose and would have left the hall, 
but she ran to him weeping and threw 
her arms about his neck. 

“At last, at last,” she cried, “That is 
our secret ! Now I know you are Odys- 
seus and no other.” And Odysseus, as 
he held her close, thanked Father Zeus 
for her long faithfulness. 


260 


The Children’s Odyssey. 


XXXVI. Laertes and Peace. 

Very early the next morning Odys- 
seus arose and told Penelope that he was 
going to the wooded farm to see his 
father Laertes, who had mourned for him 
so long. 

“But you must stay indoors,” he said 
to her. “Our troubles are not over yet. 
The townspeople know by this time of 
the killing of the suitors. Among them 
were the foremost young men of Ithaca. 
Their fathers and brothers will all be 
against me. If they come here today, do 
not stir from your own rooms.” 

It was hardly daylight, but Odysseus 
and Telemachus set out with the two herds- 
men, fully armed. They did not wish the 
people to see them as they went walking 
through the town. 

At the farm of Laertes the laborers had 
all gone to the fields to gather stones to 


Laertes and Peace. 


261 


build the vineyard walls. These men were 
slaves and lived in a shed which ran around 
the outside of the house. The shed was 
empty, and no one was in the house but an 
old woman who kept it for Laertes. Odysseus 
told his companions to kill a fat hog and 
prepare a meal. He took off his armor and 
left it with them, and went into the vine- 
yard, looking for his father. 

Not far away he saw Laertes, busily hoe- 
ing around the roots of a young plant. He 
wore a dirty tunic, patched and coarse, and 
leather leggings to protect his legs from 
brambles. He had gloves on his hands, and. 
on his head a cap of goatskin. He was 
bent with age, and worn with grieving for 
his long-lost son. 

The sight of the old man touched 
Odysseus to the heart. Tears came to his 
eyes. He stood awhile beneath a pear 
tree, watching his father. Laertes, with 
his head bent low, was busy about the 
plant when Odysseus spoke to him: 


262 The Children’s Odyssey. 

“Old man, everything" upon this farm 
seems well cared for except yourself. And 
yet you look more like the owner than 
a slave. Is the farm yours? And is 
this country Ithaca?” Laertes arose and 
looked the stranger over. “I entertained 
a man from Ithaca one day,” Odysseus 
continued, “who said his father was Laer- 
tes. I took him home and entertained 
him well, and when he went away I gave 
him valuable gifts.” 

Then Laertes answered sadly: 

“Yes, you are in Ithaca, but you gave 
your handsome gifts in vain, for he to 
whom you gave them is not here. If he 
were, he would return your kindness and 
take you to his home. He was my only 
son. How long has it been since you 
have seen him?” 

“Four years ago he left my house,” 
Odysseus said, “and I had hoped to meet 
him here again.” 


Odysseus Watching Laertes. 




•* r 



Laertes and Peace. 


263 


At this the poor old man burst into 
tears. He gathered dust in both hands 
from the ground, and scattered it on his 
gray head, moaning in grief. Odysseus 
could not bear to see it. He sprang to- 
ward his father, clasped him in his arms 
and kissed him. 

“O father, look at me!” he cried, “I am 
the one you grieve for, even I. So 
weep no more, for let me tell j^ou — I have 
killed the suitors, every man of them. I 
have paid them back for all the wrong 
they did me.” But Laertes would not be- 
lieve him. 

If you are Odysseus indeed,” he said, 
“show me some proof of it.” Odysseus 
showed him the scar upon his leg. 

“And I can give more proof,” he said. 
“When I was a little boy, you gave me, 
for my own, ten apple trees, four- 
teen pear trees, and forty fig trees. And 
that day as we walked through the vine- 


264 The Children’s Odyssey. 

yard, you marked off fifty rows of vines 
for me, all bearing grapes.” 

Then Laertes grew faint with joy, so 
that his knees gave way beneath him, for 
he knew that this was his own son. 
Odysseus held him gently in his strong 
arms until the poor old man could stand 
again. Then they walked on together to 
the farmhouse. The herdsmen and the 
old woman who kept house had prepared 
a meal for them. As they sat down to 
eat, the laborers, Dolius and his sons, 
came in, all tired from their work in the 
vineyard. They halted on the threshold, 
astonished at the presence of a stranger. 

“Come, come, Dolius,” said Odysseus 
in the kindest way. “All of you stop 
wondering and sit down to dinner. We 
are waiting for you.” 

Then Dolius, the aged servant, and all 
the others knew him for their master, and 
they ran to kiss his hands, for they were 
wonderfully glad. So they all sat down 


Laertes and Peace. 


265 


and ate together. When they had fin- 
ished, wise Laertes said, 

“I am afraid the townspeople will at- 
tack us for the killing of the suitors.” 
Odysseus had been thinking the same 
thing, but he answered, 

“Do not fear, but one of you go and 
see if you can see them coming.” A man 
ran out to look and was soon back. 

“To be sure, they are coming,” he cried, 
“and they are very near. Get your weap- 
ons ready.” They sprang to arm them- 
selves, and old Laertes said, 

“This is a happy day for me, when I 
can see my son and my son’s son fight 
side by side.” 

As Odysseus had foreseen, the men of 
Ithaca were struck with horror when they 
heard of the killing of their sons and 
brothers among the suitors. They seized 
their spears and started out in an angry 
crowd to find Odysseus. And here they 
found him, armed and ready, in front of 


266 The Children’s Odyssey. 

his father’s door, with the two old men 
Laertes and Dolius, Telemachus, and the 
six young sons of Dolius for his army. 
Gray-haired though Laertes was, he had 
not forgotten how to fight. He was the 
first to throw his spear. As the men of 
the town came on, the spear of Laertes 
struck the leader and he fell. The battle 
was on. But it did not last long, for 
Odysseus and his men charged furiously, 
and the others fled before their spears. 
Odysseus would have followed them back 
to the town. But suddenly a mighty voice 
was heard: 

“Hold, men of Ithaca, fight no more!” 
A peal of thunder sounded from the sky, 
— the sign of Zeus. The warriors halted, 
fearing to go on. 

“It is the will of the gods,” they said, 
“we will fight no more.” 

The fleeing men turned back, and then 
and there a lasting peace was made be- 
tween Odysseus and his people. He lived 


Laertes and Peace. 


267 


out his life among them, making their 
hearts glad, and teaching them the courage, 
and the readiness, and the endurance that 
he had learned from his hard life. 






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